


How They Make You A Weapon

by thelittlestpurplecat



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Avengers Family, Biting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Complete, Consensual Sex, Drug Use, Explicit Consent, Fear Of Rape/Non-Con, Fear Tactics, First Aid, First Kiss, First Time, Groping, Hostage Situations, Hugs, Imprisonment, Intimidation, Kidnapping, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Love Bites, M/M, Making Love, Medical Experimentation, Memory Alteration, Minor Character Death, Murder, Neck Kissing, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Pretty Dark Shit, Realization, Resolution, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Separations, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Shower, Stitches, Super Soldier Serum, Super Soldier Sex, Surgery, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, Violence, Virgin Steve Rogers, Winter Solder Bucky/Skinny Steve, friends to strangers to lovers, no actual rape, revenge trip, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestpurplecat/pseuds/thelittlestpurplecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra knows Captain America is their greatest enemy, but when time travel technology allows them to slip back through the threads of time, Hydra finds itself presented with an opportunity too golden to pass up: <em>The opportunity to kidnap twenty year old Steve Rogers from his own time, and bring him to to present.</em><br/>It alters history- skews it in Hydra's favor- and furnishes them with the perfect subject to turn their greatest enemy into their greatest asset. But Hydra didn't account for two, tiny details: <em>That the Winter Soldier would remember the golden haired boy from his childhood, and that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes -no mater the circumstances- would burn the world to keep each other safe. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Target Aquired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in several fics I’ve written in the past (Namely, [Total Institution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5095736/chapters/11719181), and [Muzzled Memory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4617729)) I’ve played around with the concept of Bucky becoming the Winter Soldier with or without the influence of Steve, and I’ve got to say, I’ve become pretty attached to the idea. I’ve played around with Steve and Bucky not meeting until modern times because Steve didn’t exist in the forties, (Total Institution) And Steve existing in the forties but just not becoming Captain America (Muzzled Memory) so this time, I wanted to toy around with the idea of Steve being taken from his original timeline. ~~With that justification out of the way, I also really just like writing Winter Soldier!Bucky/Skinny!Steve.~~ So, however this turns out, I hope you’ll all enjoy it for what it is. 
> 
> **Content Warnings** for this chapter include non-consensual (but non-sexual) touching, and fear of rape.

As soon as word spread that Captain America had been found- _alive_ \- in the Arctic, the powers behind Hydra knew it couldn’t end well for them. The Captain had laid waste to Project Valkyrie in the past and now, seventy years later, Project Insight was just too important to risk. It was already piecing together, already coming alive right under S.H.I.E.L.D’s nose. Execution of the plan was still a year off, but Captain America had never been one to go down easily. Ignoring his involvement until the last minute would only end in chaos. 

So Hydra’s best minds had been set to the task- even the Zola Program set to predict probabilities to determine the best course of action.

And Zola’s data hadn’t disappointed. It was complex, but brutally efficient. It would erase failing of the past, and furnish them with an unparalleled weapon for their future. It would remove their greatest enemy, and create their greatest asset. 

All they had to do was cut off their problem at the root. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_ Shit- _

Steve could feel the night air freezing in his lungs. He could feel his throat burning, and itching, and knew that, before long, dry vicious coughs would rattle his frail body. Winter was always hard on him. He got sick so much easier, and the cold air aggravated his asthma; it made his joints ache, and his lingering cough grow so much more violent. Jesus- he sounded more like an old man than a guy who'd just turned twenty....but, then again, he'd been just the same since he was a kid, so it’s not like his age made much of a difference. 

Two years old or twenty, it didn't matter. Steve had come to accept that he was only ever one wrong breath away from an early grave, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

He pulled his jacket closer around his shivering body. Steve’s fingers were numb from the biting cold, and the wind was beginning to make him frustrated, and irritable. He just wanted to be out of the weather. He just wanted to be home.. _.with Bucky…_. 

In the privacy of the darkness, Steve allowed himself a small, secret smile.

Steve didn’t care that ever since he was a kid, every bully in the neighborhood had had him pegged as a queer. He didn’t care that he got a black eye or a split lip at least once a week ‘cause some asshole thought his preferences was their business. He didn’t give a single, flying fuck, ‘cause at the end of the day, he got to go home to his best friend, and he got to sit on the couch with him while they listened to reruns of the baseball game on the radio. And if Bucky’s arm ended up slung around Steve’s shoulders, or Steve’s head came to rest on Bucky’s collar bone, it was no one’s business but theirs. And if they curled up in each other’s arms at night for warmth, no one else was any the wiser. 

Steve had the bitter luxury of having nothing to lose. If someone decided to split his head open over it, they’d most likely have only beat the pneumonia to putting him in a coffin by a year or two anyways. If he got arrested, at least there would be no more bills to pay, and he had no one who depended on his meager income to keep alive. 

Oh... _but not Bucky.._.Bucky didn’t deserve anything like that.

Bucky had a lot going for him...He had chances; a _future._ He had his family, an academic scholarship, and his health. There was nothing stopping Bucky from going far in life, so Steve kept his mouth shut, and never once let on about just how stupidly in love with his best friend he really was.

With the thought of Bucky’s wide, boyish grin etched in his mind, Steve ducked against the cold, his freezing, shuffling feet taking him past a broad shouldered man leaning against the entrance to the alley. Steve didn’t pay him much mind- if only to notice he was only wearing a short sleeved shirt in bitter cold like this. He shook his head numbly, frozen to the bone even in his jacket… As he slipped past though, Steve felt his stomach tighten as the man’s eyes flickered up to him, and he drew away from the wall. 

_ “Hey kid-” _

An iron hard grip curled around his upper arm, yanking him to a dead stop as Steve’s weak heart lurched in his chest. And suddenly, he felt the man drag him close, a hard, sharp-featured face looming out of the darkness. “Cool your heels for a minute.”

A second of frozen shock dragged at Steve’s body before his mind suddenly snapped back into action and he recoiled, wrenching against his grip. “Let go-” He snapped through gritted teeth, his bony fists closed tight, his gaunt face twisted in a snarl. Steve braced his weight backwards, his thin boots skidding helplessly on the icy sidewalk. _“Fuck-”_ He hissed, jerking again as the man’s grip pulled him closer, and aggressive panic spiked through Steve’s chest. “I break your fucking hand- _let me go!”_

Abruptly, the man’s opposite hand flashed out, grabbing over Steve’s entire lower face and wrenching him around. Steve let out a muffled cry as his body was whipped around like a toy as he found himself crushed- his back to the man’s broad chest, his hand clamped over his mouth, as the other slid menacingly down to something clipped on his heavy utility belt. _“I said-_ ” The man breathed, low, heavy, and pointed, and Steve’s stomach turned sour with terror as the metal barrel of a gun traced his jaw. “ _...Cool your heels…”_

Steve froze. 

There was a gun to his head, there- there was a  _ gun _ to his  _ head _ . Steve had pitted himself against ugly odds before, but something cold, and knotted inside him told him these were the kinds of odd he wasn’t going to walk away from. _He was gonna die_ … The hand was like a vice over his mouth, the gun point blank. Any second, he’d hear it go off and feel the bullet rip through his skull, leaving him slumped -dead- in his attackers grip. Steve tried to tell himself he had to want something- that that was more likely that someone just getting an itch to blow a kid’s brains out. But he wasn’t feeling for a wallet, so he wasn’t looking to rob Steve. And that meant that the options left were getting darker, and darker.

On a last, desperate whim, Steve gave his head a little shake; huge, wide eyes snapping back towards his attacker. And for a moment, the man just studied him with sharp, shrew eyes. A second later, his hand eased from over his mouth, the man’s lips curling into a smirk. “Scream and I’ll snap your neck, got it, Sport?”

Steve dipped his head in a tiny nod. He didn’t doubt it. 

“What do you want-” Steve managed, his voice low, and husky as he tried to keep it from shaking. The gun hadn’t lifted from his skin. The man had to want something, and if Steve could get him talking, he might be able to talk his way out. Left to his devices, Steve would rather just start swinging, and take the blows as they came. But no matter how he thought out the situation, the one holding the gun always came out on top. Shakily, Steve turned his head, slow, and subtle, his eyes sliding back to try and get a better look at the man. 

He had dark hair that was cut close at the side, but left longer at the top, and styled with some kind of gell. His eyes were set deep, and there was a close stubble over his chin. He looked military- but not like any military Steve had ever seen. There was no tailored jacket, tie or hat. He wasn’t neat, and composed the way that Steve was used to seeing military men. He was wearing an obscenely tight black shirt, with no collar, tie, or suspenders. His pants were made of a thick, tactical material, and the utility belt around his waist was heavy with all kinds of devices Steve had never seen. He didn’t look like he belonged here- in this city- or this century, and it made Steve’s skin crawl with fear. 

He looked like he’d come prepared to make a kill. 

“What do you want.” He tried again, still hushed, blinking rapidly, as his eyes flickered back up to his face. 

The man’s dark, deep-set eyes glinted, the nasty smirk on his lips widening cruelly, as the hand that had been clamped over his mouth found it’s way to the back of Steve’s neck. A low, easy chuckle slipped from his lips, and he jostled Steve’s slender frame like this was some kind of joke between friends- a game. _Like he was just messing with him…_

And suddenly, the hand closed on the junction on his neck, and skull like a vice, giving his head a sharp twist. Steve stomach dropped, a cry ripping from his lungs as he waited to feel his neck snap. But the man just dragged his head to the side, exposing the length of his neck, pressing in the gun-

_ and pulling the trigger. _

It must have severed his spinal chord instantly, because all Steve felt was a moment of sharp, jabbing pain, before the darkness began to close in around the edges of his vision. His hand lifted, fumbling shakily to touch where he expected gushing blood and the carved path of a bullet through his neck. But his trembling fingers touched only a very thin, plastic cylinder that was lodged into his skin. 

_ A needle- a- a sedative…. _

_ Oh god no- _

Steve’s knees gave out, a weak moan slipping his lips as his attacker’s hardened hands caught him under his armpits, stopping him before he could hit the cold sidewalk. Steve could feel his breath on his cheek- hear the low murmur of his words against his ear ‘ _ Easy, Cap...up you come…’  _ His hold shifted, and the man lifted him easily; tossing him over one shoulder like a sack of flour. He went limply. Steve felt himself hanging over the man’s shoulder- felt his hands anchored on the back of one thigh, and the side of his narrow, bony hips. He felt the jolt as he gave a low, rumbling laugh, patting mockingly over his ass. 

“Take a nap, Stevie…”

And then he was being taken, the man carrying him away as his vision went black, the sounds around him growing thick and distorted. And it just kept getting colder, and colder...and colder...

_ God- please no- _

The second to last thought that crossed Steve’s hazy, drug-addled mind was that the stranger had called him by name...somehow, his kidnapper knew him... 

The last thought, was that he was going to die. _And Bucky would never know what had happened to him._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve felt like his head was going to split open. 

Even with his eyes closed he felt like the room was spinning. Even laying on a hard, cold floor, he felt like he was going loose his balance, and go pitching forward into space. His stomach rolled violently inside him, and Steve let out a soft, broken moan, his aching knees drawing up against his chest. 

_ What the hell had happened? _

Steve blinked heavily, his lashes crusted together, and another weak groan slipped his lips as huge, gray-pink blotches bloomed in front of his vision. He...He couldn’t see...It was dark all around him, but the huge blotches in his dilated eyes blurred even the sight of his hands, curled up into fists by his face. Rough concrete pressed against the fair skin of Steve’s cheek, and he shifted with a pained whimpered. _God-_ his whole body hurt, his joints grinding in painful protest as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then to the palms of his hands. 

He caught in a breath of stale, cold air, his half-blind eyes snapping around the dark space. And suddenly, the memory of what had happened crept back into his mind, and panic lanced through his weak body like a knife.

He had been stopped on his way back home. The man had drugged him, tossed him over his shoulder and carried him away. He’d known who he was. _And he’d kidnapped him._

Steve lurched forward on his hands and knees, his heart crawling up his throat, eyes suddenly burning as terror coursed through him. _Where was he?_ God- it was dark all around him- _freezing,_ and dark. There was concrete under his hands, and his rapid, gasping breathing echoed tightly around the small space.. _.No- no- god no-_

_ He was in a cell- _

Steve reached out, frantically groping at the ground in front of him, stiff, cold fingers dragging over rough concrete as his body went tight with horror. “No-” He whispered softly, his throat raw, panic mounting inside him. “No _no no no no- no_ please- _please-”_ Steve felt blindly through the darkness, crawling on hands and knees until his trembling fingers stubbed against the nearest wall. Dragged in a raw breath, Steve raised up onto his knees, feeling his way up a heavy steel door, his blind eyes widening in the darkness. There was no handle on the inside, and Steve felt his stomach twist so violently he thought he’d hurl. _“No-”_ He breathed, his trembling hands patting frantically for a knob. “No, no- _no NO! NO!”_

His frantic, desperate shout was too loud in the small room, lacing deeply back into his throbbing head, but Steve was too far gone to care. The searching patting against the door turn to violent, flat handed smacks; to curled fists, pounding on the steel until his knuckles split. _“NO!”_ Steve scream, slamming himself against the door, adrenalin turning him manic. “NO! _LET ME OUT!_ OPEN THE DOOR- _OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! LET ME OUT!”_

He could feel the adrenaline overriding the lingering effects of the drugs, but something told him it wouldn’t last. He was going go weak again- exhaustion was going to crash down on him like a bucket of lead, and he couldn’t let that happen without doing something useful with the precious few minutes of alertness he had. Staggering to his feet, Steve ran his hands over the walls, feeling for anything other than the door. He was about halfway along the side wall when his eyes adjusted just enough to the darkness to make out the outline of a cot, before his shins could strike it. He stopped short before he could run into it, bending to touch the edge, just to confirm it was really there. But the tiny bit of support suddenly seemed to remind his drugged body just how heavy it was, and Steve found himself sorely tempted to collapse on the cot. It was hard, and cold, and stiff, but...he could lay down...he could-

Steve pulled back abruptly, yanking his hand away from the cot. He couldn’t. He could just give up, he- he hadn’t even been able to walk all the way around his tiny cell yet. If he couldn’t manage that… But whether Steve wanted too or not, his legs suddenly turned numb, dipping underneath him, and he dropped back against the wall with a ragged gasp. The adrenaline was just making him nauseous now, but his body had betrayed him, his fingers digging fruitlessly against the hard metal door as he tried to push himself back up. The panic was coming on strong again. His chest was heaving. His lungs were seizing up. _He- He was trapped in here…_

Steve sunk to his knees. He could feel the asthma attack threatening, and his scrawny hand fumbled to find the points his Ma had showed him.  _ ‘Front of your shoulders, Steven. Just above the armpits, hold the pressure there sweetheart, now breath...that’s my boy…’ _ Steve squeezed his eyes closed, a high, constricted whimper slipping his lips ‘ _ In four, out six, come on...that’s it, Steven…’ _ Steve pressed his fingers into the muscle group, following the breathing pattern his mother had taught him, and trying to sooth the tightness before it blossomed grotesquely into a full blown asthma attack. He didn’t have his asthma cigs. There was no one to help him through...an attack right now could kill him. 

But panic continued to wash over him in icy waves.

He was gonna die. Even if an asthma attack didn’t kill him, a few days without his meds would. And if by some miracle that didn’t put him down...why would anyone bother to keep him alive? He’d been snatched off the street and tossed in a dark cell, and...and then what? Was the man coming back, or did he just plan on leaving him here to starve to death? If he did come back, was Steve any better off? He could have been planning on using Steve- but why go to the trouble of locking him up here? If some sick bastard had wanted to take advantage of him, the nearest ally would have done; built the way he was, Steve wouldn’t have stood much chance of fighting off a man like his kidnapper. Unless he was a real sadist...the kind of monster who kept their victims around…

Steve shuddered sickly, his fingernails digging into his chest as he managed the slow, measured breaths, his eyes burning with panicked tears. He was shaking like a leaf. This shouldn’t have happened- he was supposed to be home- He was supposed to be with Bucky…

The thought was enough to snap the last thread of strength Steve was clinging to, and suddenly, hot, burning tears were coursing down his cheek. A raw, shuddering gasp ripped from his lungs, and he doubled forward, sobbing as he clutched his knees to his chest. He was supposed to be with Bucky- _not here-_ not locked up by some sick maniac, wondering how he was going to die...He was supposed to be tucked against Bucky’s side on the couch, listening to the radio while Bucky paged through his book, his fingers scratching absently through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He was supposed to be home, and safe... _He was supposed to be with Bucky,_ he- _he just wanted Bucky…_

The breaking, cracking wheeze of Steve’s strangled sobs, echoed around the cold cell. The rushing in his ears, and the hitching gasps ripping from his throat drowning out any other sound, even the sound of a tall figure shifting to it’s feet from the dark, back corner of the cell. 

He curled forward, pressing his head between his knees and rocking on the base of his spine, shaking violently as he sobbed. It wouldn’t stop- the shaking. He just kept quivering all over, his muscles tensing, his lungs burning with every broken sob that wrenched out of them. He was freezing, and his body hurt. He could barely see, and his head throbbed viciously from whatever drug had been used to sedate him. _He was scared._..he was so, _so_ scared…

Steve bit on his his bottom lip until he tasted blood, and still failed to choke back the sobs that stripped his throat raw. He squeezed his eyes closed, his heart pounding in his head- heavy, and steady, like footsteps. Coming closer. _Closer._

And suddenly, _there was a hand on his neck._

Steve screamed- lurching upright as the touch jerked away from the back of his neck. The jolt cracked his skull against the door, but the pain registered only dimly in the back of Steve’s terrified mind. _There was someone else in the cell with him_. A shadow loomed, huge, and dangerous, in front of him and Steve scrambled backwards, clawing his way up until he was half-standing against the door. 

_“Get back-_ ” He snapped, his voice breaking, tears spilling down his cheeks. _He was a mess-_ he couldn’t even stand up all the way on his own, but Steve gritted his teeth, lifting his chin, as he stared at the shadow in front of him. “S-Stay away from me. Just- stay away. Don’t touch me.” Steve had stopped counting each breath, his chest heaving in and out in shallow, strangled wheeze. He was getting light headed.

The figure eased a step closer, and Steve’s chest flushed with alarm, his back pressing flat against the door. 

_ “I SAID STAY AWAY-”  _

A hand slipped forward out of the darkness, reaching for Steve’s face, and he struck at it. “NO!” He cracked, his arm stinging as it hit solid muscle, his breath hitching in his throat. He kept moving forward, slowly closing the inches between them, Steve’s head jerking in a violent shake. “No- No, _don’t touch me- STOP IT!”_

The hand reached out again, and Steve suddenly darted, scrambling to his right, but his knees gave out from underneath him. And the shadow was faster than he could have _ever_ hoped to have gotten up.

He moved faster than Steve had thought a human possible, suddenly overtop of him, an unnaturally hard hand pressing to the middle of his heaving chest- holding in him the the corner of the cell. Another broken, terrified scream ripped from Steve’s lungs as he was held down; kicking, and squirming. His legs lashed out, striking the hardened core of the man’s stomach, and for a brief second, Steve had thought he’d landed a solid hit. But his assailant didn’t let out so much as a winded huff. He only leaned closer. Steve kicked again, but the man felt like iron- his body solid muscle, and the terrifying, inescapability of his situation sunk under Steve’s skin like a parasite. _This couldn’t be happening- He couldn’t just be helpless-_ Steve lurched underneath him, a scream of terror and aggression ripping from his lungs as he writhed underneath him, finding himself pinned- barely even sitting up- in the corner of the cell with the terrifying figure crouched over him.

“NO!- GET OFF- _GET OFF!”_ Steve screamed, his tears cold on his cheeks, kicking uselessly, though each time his heels struck in only made his ankles ache. He wrenched and squirmed underneath him, his hands clawing at his chest, and at the arm pinning him down. The man leaned forward, Steve’s huge, panicked gaze making out a flash of gray, morbidly curious eyes, and the hand slid back up, tracing the length of his pale throat. Steve shook his head violently, his lungs seizing with terror as the fingertips traced up his throat, following his jugular vein, and _those eyes-_ Those eyes stared at him out of the darkness, like he hadn’t seen, or touched another human being in years. Like he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt warm flesh under his hands, or the terrified racing of another person’s heart. The hand traced from his throat, up to his jaw, touching his face- his body looming over him.

Steve squeezed his eyes closed, a lilting cry slipping his cracked lips as the man explored his soft, vulnerable skin.  _ God no- please- please just let this be a horrible nightmare- don’t let this happen-  _

_ This couldn’t be happening-  _

The hand that anchored his chest to the wall shifted. It trailed up his shirt, over his collar, moving up to curl loosely around his throat, and Steve flinched away with a sob, his stomach dropping as he felt the cold bite of freezing metal against his skin. God- his  _ arm _ was  _ metal- _ The hand framed his throat, curling, closing, until it was flush against his skin. But he didn’t squeeze- didn’t twist- like he was merely using the hold to keep him still rather than to strangle him, or break his neck. But Steve wasn’t sure what was worse- because as he held him still, his right hand continued to explore him. 

He slid his fingers slowly through his hair, dragging Steve’s bangs away from his forehead as those impersonal gray eyes drank in his ashen, tearstained face. The soft, blond strands slipped one by one out of his grasp as his hand slid to the back of his head, tracing back around under his jaw, before moving back up to brush over his cheekbones. He traced the lines of his face, running his fingers over Steve’s trembling lips as Steve clawed helplessly at the hand around his throat. He tried to pry his fingers under his assailant's grip, but the pressure it put on his windpipe was more than he could stand. He was already getting light headed. He was already struggling to breath. Steve grabbed his attacker’s metal wrist weakly, but there was no strength in his arms to pull it back. 

Steve squeezed his eyes closed as the fingers brushed over his brows, and then slid down, tracing his quivering eyelids, and a raw, animalistic moan of fear slipped Steve’s trembling lips. _“No-”_ He begged, too terrified to conjure up anger- to raw, and confused, and scared to bite out a snarling threat. “Please-” Steve rasped. “Please, don't- _don't-_ no-”

The touch slid from his eyelids, brushing past the hand on his throat to trace Steve’s collar bones, fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt, and Steve’s breath caught brokenly in his lungs. He could make out the edges of his face now- a hard jaw, and high cheekbones. He could make out long, tangled dark hair, and something in the back of his mind told him that this man was another prisoner. But it didn’t matter. He was _touching_ him- his right hand feeling down his protruding ribs, and Steve shuddered sickly, his lips twitching in helpless terror. But screaming at him hadn’t made him stop, pleading either, and Steve’s body was still too heavy from the sedative to effectively fight. There was no one to help- there was no one to make him stop, and Steve let out a raw, broken sob as the man touched the sharp edges of his hipbones.

There was nothing he could do- nothing. He was _helpless,_ and the man in his cell was touching him like he was a delicacy. 

His attacker leaned in, closer, and closer, Steve jerking uselessly in his hold as his warm breath slid over his frozen skin. Their chests were pressed, flush together, the man’s hips pressing hard between his slender thighs as his cheek brushed Steve’s. The scrape of rough stubble against his skin wrenched a sob from Steve’s lips, his numb fingers pulling weakly at the hand around his throat. He could feel tears coursing down his face, feel the man turning his face into Steve’s hair, and drawing in a deep breath.

_ He was smelling him _ \- christ- he was  _ smelling _ him, and Steve tasted the bile rising up in his throat. 

His lips just barely brushed his ear, his hand anchored hard on the side of his hip and Steve’s cold, numb fingers uncurled from the pointless task of trying to pry the hand of his throat. The struggle, and the shock, and the remaining traces of the sedatives had turned his body to rubber, but Steve planted his hands flat on the man’s chest, his elbows quivering as he tried to push him back. _ God- get off me. Please get off me- I don’t want this- _

And suddenly, his attacker went still. 

He didn’t pull back, but he didn’t move any further. His hand stopped cold on Steve’s hip, his metal left still curled loosely around his throat. His cheek was still touching Steve’s, his breath warm on the shell of his ear. Steve gave a feeble push against his chest, his hands still shaking violently. He felt like he was shutting down. The cold, the fear, the lingering sedative...it was too much. Depending on how long he’d been out, his regular meds could already be well worked out of his system. He was hungry, and confused, and exhausted. He was being attacked by a man he had no chance of fending off, and he was shutting down.. _.he was shutting down…_

The realization registered dimly to his mind, his body hitching as a little, broken sob ratted from his chest. What little vision he had in the darkness was swimming. He was so close to the edge that even the fear was dulling. He should be terrified-  _ was _ terrified. But he was slipping under, and there was nothing he could do...his attacker was going to do whatever he wanted to his limp, unconscious body, and Steve couldn’t even make himself struggle. 

Slowly, the hand that had been gripping his hip eased lower, and Steve let out a low, helpless whimper as it slid under his thighs, lifting his hips closer, his legs wrapped limply around his waist. The hold on his throat shifted to the back of his neck, and then around his shoulders, pinning him tightly against his body.

And then he was being lifted.

Steve squirmed weakly, but his vision was darkening by the second, and his arms were trapped between them. He felt his body pull away from the hard, confining corner- feel the man's arm slid closer under his thighs to hold him, feel his opposite hand, hard, on his back, and then he turned.

_ Oh god- _ he was taking him to the cot.

Steve felt gravity pull at his body as he bent over. He could feel the hard canvass pressing under his shoulder blades- see his attackers shadow looming over him like an animal, ready to rip him apart. The man’s knees framed Steve’s thighs, his metal hand bracing him over Steve’s body as he took him down onto the narrow bed. 

_ This was it- _

Steve’s body was going numb. His mind was shutting down, even though part of it was still screaming for him to fight. Any second now he was going to feel himself being undress- being taken advantage of while he was limp, and drugged, and helpless. He should be screaming, and kicking and thrashing. But all he could do was lay on the cot like a broken doll as cold, wet tears ran down his gaunt face. _This was it…_

It wasn’t ever how Steve had thought his first time would be.. _.but it wasn’t like he had any choice._

He felt the stranger’s weight easing down beside him, his muscular arms, manipulating Steve’s body easily until his back was pressed flush against the man’s chest. The metal, left arm slid under the dip of Steve’s neck, wrapping tightly around his upper chest, the right hand finding Steve’s and taking both his slender wrist in one, strong hand. A broken whimper managed to slip Steve’s lips, and his attacker turned his mouth in against his ear, uttering the first inference of speech Steve had ever heard from him. 

_“Shhh…”_ He hushed the whimper, guiding Steve’s hands down between his slender thighs, and Steve managed to tiny, jolting shake of his head. _ He didn’t want to touch himself. He didn’t want any of this… _

But the man simply slid Steve’s ice cold fingers between his thighs, releasing his hold on his wrist and pinning Steve’s thighs together with the weight of one, heavily muscled leg, Steve’s hands still pressed in between. Steve felt his mouth ease close to his ear again.

“Keep them there.” He ordered, his voice low, and hushed, Steve’s breath shuddering in his chest at the sound. He briefly touched Steve’s wrists again, as though to make certain his hands were still where he’d placed them. When he found them still compressed between Steve’s thighs he gave a tiny nod, something grimly satisfied in the movement. 

_“Warmer.”_ He said in a murmur, and it took Steve’s exhausted, drugged mind a moment to recognize it as an explanation. 

_ His hands would be warmer like that…. _

Steve blinked heavily, tears still trickling down his cheeks as the man’s right arm curled tightly around Steve’s concave stomach, holding his body firmly against his. Steve gave an experimental twitch, but he could barely move. His shoulder’s were held against the man’s chest by the bizarre metal arm. The man’s right arm- nearly as strong with pure muscle as the metal- was wrapped around his stomach, and his legs were held down by his right thigh. Steve wasn’t going anywhere. Not until  _ he _ decided Steve was allowed.

He let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes falling closed. 

Steve didn’t believe for a moment that this man wouldn’t hurt him, but as he lay, trapped against his body, a cold, dull resignation spread through him like a cancer. _What did it matter?_ Whether he was drugged, sick, and exhausted, or at the peak of his physical health, he would never stand a chance of fending off a man like him...Either way, he was completely subject to his whims, and he would do what he wanted to him whether Steve was awake or asleep...So what did it matter if he let his exhaustion overcome him?

Sedate helplessness washed through him like an icy wave, his body still quivering in the stranger’s arms. _He didn’t want to be here._ He didn’t to be cold, and scared, and confused. He didn’t want to surrender his safety- his very  _ body- _ to a stranger with no respect for consent…

_ He just wanted to go home. _

Steve sniffed, biting back a whimper as tears slid down his icy cheeks. As the lingering effects of the drugs retook his body, his restraint slipped, and Steve cried; soft, and quiet, and scared. He choked back sobs, and held his body utterly still, because for the moment, the wandering touch had stopped, and he was just being restrained in the steely arms. He didn’t want to cause the man to shift- to move- to resume the invasive exploration of his body. Steve wanted him to forget he existed. So he lay like a ragdoll in the man’s arms while streams of cold, stinging tears ran into his hairline. He didn’t know how long it was before unconsciousness finally overtook him, but as his mind floated- distant, and delirious, he tried to make himself believe he was back home. 

The space heater was miraculously working again, and the tiny, cramped bedroom was warm. All the blankets they had were piled high on the bed, and the cold was trapped outside, and so were all their troubles. He and Bucky lay, back to chest in the little bed, Bucky’s warm, comforting arms wrapped around his stomach, their legs tangled together. 

And Steve was _warm,_

and _happy,_

and _safe._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm super excited to be sharing this story with you, so let me know what you think. I can't wait to hear any thoughts, comments of suggests you have. So, enjoy, and I'll see you next week!


	2. Inter Facility Transport

_It was a nightmare. It was all a nightmare. None of it had been real._

Steve squeezed his eyes tighter closed, and told himself that it was just the bad seal on the bedroom window that was letting in the cold. He told himself he was coming down with something- _again-_ and that was the reason for the horrible aching all over his locked up body. The blankets were too tight around him. _Just the blankets_ , he- he wasn’t being restrained. He _wasn’t._ He _couldn’t_ be.

His lashed lifted, slow, and painful, and crusted together from crying himself to sleep, though he couldn’t imagine why he would have. Dimly, Steve realized that- while he still couldn’t see very much- the awful gray-pink blotches that had dominated his vision were gone. It was just dark. He _hadn’t_ been drugged. He _hadn’t_.

And then something moved against his back, and desperate thread of hopeful delusion _snapped._

Steve bit back a low, raw noise of hurt, and fear.

_He was still here._

He was still _freezing,_ and _hungry,_ and _sick._ And he was still trapped against the powerful stranger’s body.

He could feel the man’s breath in his hair, and on the back of his ear. His arms were still held him tight against him, his upper leg curled -viselike- around Steve’s, and Steve dipped his chin, drawing in a ragged, shaking breath. He’d gotten through the night- or- the day, or for whatever span of time he’d been unconscious. _He was still alive_. He was still _dressed,_ and the only ache in his body was from laying utterly still for hours. And now, _Steve wanted out_. He didn’t care if he could only put a few feet of distance between himself and his cellmate, he wanted out of his arms. He wanted his hands off his body, and his breath off his neck. The feeling of his hands made Steve nauseous, and his arms around his chest and stomach made it hard to breath. He could feel the front of his hips pressed, flush against his ass, and Steve hated how possessive the weight of his leg, curled around his, felt. Maybe Steve didn’t have much to go on, but to this man- he was a _toy_ . A _plaything_ . Maybe the _first_ thing that had been tossed in to keep him busy in a long time. And Steve wasn’t going to let that happen.

_He was no one’s toy._

He didn’t move- didn’t bother to squirm fruitlessly against the arms he couldn’t possibly pry off. But without twitching a single muscle, Steve’s body suddenly flooded with purpose, and authority, his eyes turning steely in the darkness. “I want you to let go of me.” Steve said abruptly, low, intense, his voice echoing around the tiny room. “ _Right now.”_

It was an order. Flat out. No mistake. Steve had no idea who this man was, or what he was capable of, but he was _ordering_ him to let him go. And he expected to be obeyed.

For a heavy second, the room was still, Steve’s heart slamming in the fragile cage of his ribs. The man’s breath had stopped on his neck, like his lungs had stalled. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with the order from the tiny, frail man he held captive in his arms. Steve reasoned that he could just snap him like a twig for trying to order him around. He could slid that metal arm just a little higher up and cinched it around his throat...but at the moment, Steve’s dark, desperate mind reasoned that anything was better than this. He wouldn’t be his plaything. He wouldn’t be his toy.

The moment of stillness shattered, the arms going loose around his body.

Steve’s breath hitched in his lungs, the metal arm slowly uncurling from his chest with a low, mechanical hum, the right arm slipping from his stomach as the weight of his thigh eased from his legs. The second the restraints were gone, Steve’s composure shattered.

He lurched forward, all but throwing himself off the cot, landing hard on his shoulder. He could feel the impact jar all the way up to his clenched teeth, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but keeping his cell mate’s hands off him. Scrambling to his feet, Steve stumbled to the door, his hands fumbling over it helplessly. He’d been drugged before- he’d been weak, and exhausted, and delirious. There had to be a way out- he- he couldn’t stay here- He couldn’t stay with him.

“Come on…” He whispered feverishly, dragging his fingernails along the seam of the door. “Come on, come on, please...please. _OPEN THE DOOR!_ ” Steve’s voice rose to a desperate shout, his fingers prying at the metal door jam. There had to be someone on the outside. There had to be. “Please! _Please_ just _open the door!”_

His breath was coming too fast. His head was spinning. His felt dizzy, and nauseous, and for a hot second, Steve thought the drug was still lingering in his system- or that somehow, his cellmate had readministered it. But it felt different. More familiar. And Steve realized with a sinking stomach that he’d had nothing for his anemia in at least a day if not two or three. _He needed iron_ \- He was dizzy, exhausted, and his chest ached. Without something like liver that was rich in the irons he needed for his bad blood, he’d start passing out. Given long enough, it’d kill him too. _Did his kidnapper know that?_ He’d called him by name, but did he know that Steve needed a veritable _pharmacy_ of medication just to keep him _alive?_  

Being left without his medication would be worse than being shot, or starved to death. Worse than having his neck snapped -like he’d thought would happen more than once since his abduction- It would be slow, and painful. Steve’s weak heart going out would be the _least_ painful way to go. Besides that though, he would be taken by fevers, and vomiting, and pain all over his body. His joints would lock up. His stomach ulcers would flare, causing pain so violent it made him writhe, and made the vomiting worse...without his meds….without his med’s he’d died a very _slow,_ very _painful_ death, whether that included whatever his cellmate would inflict on him or not.

Steve dropped to his knees, feeling feverishly at what felt like a food slot in the door, his body pressing urgently against the cold steel. “ _Listen_ -” He begged, maybe to no one. _“Please,_ if anyone’s out there, I’ve got to talk to someone. If you’ve got any plans on keeping me alive, I _need_ medication. I-”

The cold, metal hand that had held him captive all night grazed between his shoulder blades, and Steve whipped around, lashing out, and hitting the hand away, regardless of the bruises that would bloom on his forearm from striking solid metal. “GET _OFF!”_ Steve snapped, helpless anger flaring inside him, his eyes wet, face flushed with rage. “Don’t touch me.” He snarled through gritted teeth, before abruptly turning his back to his cellmate, pressing back against the closed slot. “I need medication!” He pressed again, speaking desperately and praying there was someone on the other side. “Please- you’ve gotta listen to me!”

The slot snapped open so abruptly Steve was blinded by the light, an unauthorized sound of surprise and relief flooding through him and he lurched forward. Steve shoved his fine-boned hand through the slot, reaching as far as his forearm allow, grasping desperately. “Thank god- _please- I need-”_

But the words didn’t get a chance to pass Steve’s lips.

Something _jammed_ into the back of Steve’s reaching hand, electricity surging through him, Steve’s throat constricting around a scream as he wrenched away, falling to his back before his body unconsciously scrambled away from the door. He doubled over, hands clutching feverishly at his chest as a cold sweat broke out all over his body.

_Oh god-_

_He could feel it in his heart-_

The skin on the back of his hand was singed, and smell strongly of burnt flesh. But Steve just clutched at his heart, shaking all over, waiting to feel the electricity derailing the already inconsistent beat of his heart; _waiting to die._

He knelt there, in the middle of the cell, doubled over, tears dripping down his nose as his bony fingers clutched his heart. Something in the back of his mind told him that if the shock hadn’t short-circuited his heart on contact, it wasn’t going to, but Steve was paralyzed with fear. He’d seen what his Ma could do with the experimental new defibrillator technology. He’d seen what it could do the restart a failing heart, but electricity could just as easily shut it off, and Steve was at a greater risk of that then most. Maybe it hadn’t killed him right away, but the strain it had caused could trigger a heart attack. In a month- a week- _five minutes from now…_

Steve had accepted that it was only a matter of time before he died. He’d _thought_ he’d really come to terms with it, but having it suddenly looming right in front of him.. _.Steve wasn’t as ready as he’d thought…_

Slowly, the adrenaline wore off, and Steve slumped forward, his forehead touching his knobby knees, his hands still clutched to his chest. The pain in his hand was coming to the forefront of his mind now, and he could feel the deep, stinging pain of the burn. Behind him, his cellmate was moving. Something slid through the slot, and it snapped closed again, leaving them again, in near complete darkness.

Several long minutes passed before anything in the cell moved again.

Steve heard his cellmate shift to his feet- heard his heavy footsteps taking him towards Steve. _God- just don’t touch- please don’t touch me._ Steve curled closer in on himself, his spine aching from holding the position, his tears still wet on his cheeks. The sound of a tray being set against the concrete floor met Steve’s weak ears, and his gaze flickered over. His eyes were slowly readjusting to the darkness, and Steve dimly recognized the outline of a food tray on the floor… So that had been why the guard had opened the slot... Half of the contents on the tray had been eaten- presumably by the other man, but Steve could still distinguish the shapes of other servings still on the tray.

His stomach ached with hunger, his body screaming for nutrients, but Steve felt his throat close nauseously, and he curled tighter into himself; a tiny, quivering ball on the cell floor.

_It was too much._

He’d been drugged, kidnapped, handled like a toy, and almost killed. He had no idea what was going to be done to him by both his captor and his fellow prisoner. He was tired, and scared, and lonely.

_He just wanted to go home._

The man in his cell sunk down to one knee behind, and to the side of him, his shoulders stooping as he leaned close to Steve’s shuddering form. _“Eat.”_ He instructed lowly, his hand firmly finding the back of his neck, even though Steve couldn’t bring himself to do anything but flinch. He’d done _so well_ after he’d woken up...he’d demanded to be let go. He’d refused to let the man touch him. But suddenly Steve didn’t have the strength anymore. It felt the like drug overtaking him but worse, because this time, it was all Steve’s own head- his own _body._ He was giving up, and letting himself be touched. The hand on the back of his neck pulled him up, Steve’s hands falling limply from his heart, to his lap. He felt like the entire weight of his upper body was hanging on the man’s grip- like he was being held by the scruff of his neck like a bad dog. His eyes were dull, and glassy, his stomach sick. He’d almost died…

_He’d almost died…_

The man’s opposite hand took his jaw, framing his throat so that the grip of his fingers held right below his ears. Steve’s eyes lifted to his attacker, staring blankly at the dark shape of his face. He wondered if he could see him any better- if he’d been in the dark so long he could see Steve clear as day. Steve could make out little more than he had the night before. Hard jaw. High cheekbones. Long hair. He drew his face close, his breath caressing his skin as a tremor ran up Steve’s spine. He felt his lips trace along his cheek, up to his ear, and Steve’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Please-” He croaked brokenly, staring into the darkness over his shoulder. “Don’t- I don’t want…”

_“You liked it…”_

Everything in Steve stopped.

Maybe he was scared, and sick, and weak with hunger and exhaustion. Maybe brushing elbows with death had sapped his will to fight, but _no one_ was _ever_ going to touch Steve without his consent, and then try to tell him that he _liked_ it.

He shoved away, so violently, and abruptly that the man lost his hold, Steve staggering to his feet, skin crawling. “ _What the fuck is wrong with you?”_ Steve snapped, his hand gripping to wall to keep himself up. “I _liked_ it?” He spat incredulously, his lips curling back in revulsion and hatred. “You were _holding_ me _down_ ! I was _sobbing-_ I was _begging_ you to stop, and you’re trying to tell me I fucking _liked_ it?! No- no, no, no-” Steve shook his head, eyes locked on the dark shape still kneeling on the floor. “No- You don’t get to do that to me-” He pressed his voice cracking, as hot, tears of anger, and nauseous disgust slipped down his face. “You don’t get to do that me- you don’t get to touch me- grab me- trap me against you all night, and then tell me _I liked it.”_

He dragged in a ragged breath, feeling his way feverishly back to the door, praying to every entity he’d ever even _heard of_ for it to open. _He couldn’t stay here_ \- He couldn’t- _he couldn’t take this-_

The shadow moved, the figure rising to his feet and easing forward, abandoning the food tray on the floor. Steve pressed unconsciously against the wall, his hand still pressed to the door. His movements were slow- measured, his head tipped just slightly to the side. “You were upset…” He said in a low tone, Steve stomach turning at the mere sound of his voice. “It calmed you down…”

“Like _hell_ it did-” Steve spat back bitterly. “I wanted to crawl outta my fucking _skin._ When I laid still it was ‘cause I was drugged, not _calm!”_ He caught his breath, his chest heaving at it wheezed weakly in an out of him. He was gonna throw himself into an attack like this, but Steve couldn’t abide the knowledge that his attacker had somehow conceived the thought that he’d _wanted_ that. His eyes burned up at the dark figure above him, his body trembling with rage. “If you're gonna hurt me- _hurt me._ But don't you dare- _ever-_ try to convince me that I'd want that, you disgusting-"

Suddenly, the door, opened under Steve’s hand, light flooding the room, and Steve jerked back with a sharp yelp of surprise.

The man in his cell stepped back immediately, his back to the far wall, his hands behind his head. Steve blinked rapidly- blinded by the light, when a hand grabbed his arm, dragging him bodily from the cell. The door closed heavily behind him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Left in the darkness once more, the long hair man eased slowly from the back wall. His feet carried him to the door, his hand reaching out, metal tracing metal. Steve had been right. His eyes _were_ better attuned to the tiny bit of light in the room. He’d been able to make out Steve’s face, and his slender, willowy form, but the first thing he’d recognized had been his _voice._ He’d heard him, as he’d clawed at the door, begging to be let out. He’d heard him crying...seen the way his tiny body had shaken like a leaf...

The man’s fingers slid slowly over the door through which the boy had been taken, his brow twisting into a frown. _“I remember_ …” He murmured under his his breath, his mind flickering back to the wide, wet eyes that had stared up at him the night before. He’d _seen_ those eyes. He _remembered_ them- swimming with tears, and bright with hurt.

_His mother had just passed._

The man didn’t know how he knew, but it had surfaced in his mind nonetheless. The boy that had been thrown into his cell...his mother had just passed, and he’d been _sobbing_...just like last night- crying like his heart would break...He’d been upset, and...he’d touched him...stroked his face, and his hair...he’d held him in his arms...

He’d been upset, and it had calmed him down…

_He’d liked it…_

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve blinked against the sudden, harsh light, shock jarring through him as he was yanked from his cell. His mind was screaming for him to bolt, but- it was too bright. His vision was blotchy from being in the dark, and he couldn’t see a thing. His knees were shaking, and there was an iron-hard hand clamped around his upper arm.

Steve jerked against the hand, his eyes flashing up as his vision began to slowly clear, and Steve was met with the sight of deep-set eye, close stubble, and a crooked smirk.

 _His kidnapper._ His _captor._ The man who’d tossed him into a cell with a dangerous man and left him for god knows how long.

“Hey Cap, get a good night’s sleep?” He asked, tugging him close by the arm, and Steve’s stomach flushed with a sick rage.

“What do you want from me?” He demanded, jaw clenching, ignoring the dizziness that hung around his head like a cloud. His heart was pounding. He needed iron for his blood or things were going to start going downhill, _fast._

The man’s smirk widened, one eyebrow quirking sarcastically. “Candlelight dinner and then your virginity. What do you _think?”_ He scoffed, and Steve jerked against the grip on his arm.

 _“Shut up-”_ He snapped. “Cut the crap and tell me what you want with me.” He could feel his heart in his throat, feel a tremor starting in his bones. “You kidnapped me, you’ve gotta have something planned for me. I wanna know what it is.”

For a second, the man just looked down at him, before a sharp bark of laughter cut into Steve like a knife. _“What?”_ He asked incredulously, shaking his head with a nasty grin. “You really think this is _my_ operation?” His captor demanded, his head cocking as he stared down at Steve. “Look, I’m flattered kid, but I’m a soldier. _This is bigger than me.”_

For a second, all Steve could do was stare. He felt like the floor had been yanked out from underneath him, his stomach dropping weirdly. Since the moment of his kidnapping, he’d had contact with only two people- his captor, and the other prisoner, and for some reason, he’d imagined that was it. Maybe his terrified mind was trying to make the situation look a little less bleak, because if there was only two people trying to hurt him, he could...he didn’t know...give them the slip? But...the way this man was talking...it sounded _big-_ the _scary_ kind of big- the kind of big that Steve had no idea how to face.

He blinked slowly, his lips parting in strangled disbelief. “How much bigger?” He managed, in a low murmur, his eyes dragging up to the man who’d kidnapped him.

He pursed his lips, readjusting his hold on Steve’s arm as he started to walk with him. “ _Much-_ ” He emphasized shortly, his gaze flickering down. “Look- Cap, I can snap you in half like this, so if I let go of your arm, can you do us both a favor and just walk with me?” He demanded, a hint of a long island accent coming through, and it sounded enough like Brooklyn- enough like _home-_ to hurt.

Steve drew in a heavy breath, and dipped his head in a nod. He slid into step next to him, his shoulders tense, eyes watching the man with guarded suspicion. “You knew my name…” Steve said lowly, remembering him saying it as he’d tossed his drugged, limp body over his shoulder. _“How?”_

“Mhhh….Not gonna answer that.”

“Why am I here.” Steve snapped irritably, and the man just raised his eyebrows, that unkind sarcasm glinting back in his eyes.

“Not gonna answer _that_ either.” He said easily, watching him out of the corner of his eye, and fucking _smirking_ as Steve clenched his fists in frustration and anger.

“You gonna answer anything?” Steve asked, cool and tight, and his captors hand found its way to the back of his neck again, giving him that same, loose jostle, like it was all a game.

“Nah-” He said leading him down a featureless gray hallway. “Right now, I’m gonna take you for a medical exam, and then, you’re gonna meet with the Director, he’ll tell you what he thinks you need to know, at least as far as the big stuff goes. As for the little stuff…” He twisted his lips off to the side, looking down at him through sharp eyes. “We’re called Hydra. The food ain’t awful, if you cooperate, things go a lot better, and you can call me Agent Rumlow. How are those for answers?”

“ _Two outta ten.”_ Steve sneered, and Agent Rumlow’s smirk widened into a canine grin. He shook his head, as though Steve baffled him, taking him around a sharp corner and into a different door-lined hallway. There was nothing Steve saw that could possibly be an exit. He swallowed hard, eyes dragging over each and every door they passed. Almost none of them were marked, only numbered. Were they cells, like his? Where there a lot of prisoners? Maybe this was some kind of human trafficking ring...Maybe they kidnapped people...people like him who didn’t have many people to miss them, and then sold them off to the highest bidder. The thought made Steve shudder, but it was the most plausible thought he’d had so far. It was a leap. He had no evidence, but Agent Rumlow had said it was big...Bigger than one man nabbing a scrawny twenty year old off the street...

But the thought of the cells brought something else to the front of Steve’s mind.

Steve drew in a deep breath, letting it out cautiously as he policed his tone. He _needed_ this. He needed _help_.

 _“I want a different cell_ …” Steve said quietly, his voice soft, and urgent. Maybe it was stupid, maybe he was just frantic for some kind of support, but Steve _desperately_ wanted to believe that Agent Rumlow would help him. He...He hadn't physically hurt him yet. He'd taken him away from the man in his cell...Maybe there was some thread of human decency inside this man. He was... _older_ ...early fifties, maybe he had kids...maybe a teenaged son he’d never want to see hurt...Maybe he’d glimpse past Steve’s rigid mask to see how utterly _terrified_ he really was…

At the question, Rumlow stopped short in front of the door at the end of the hallway. His eyes turned searchingly to Steve as he slowly braced one hand on the door, stopping their progress. “That so…” He asked mildly, but there was something else in his tone that Steve couldn’t pin down. And it scared him. Steve unconsciously eased back, Rumlow’s hand sliding easily along the door as he strolled forward, Steve continuing back to maintain the distance between them. “Why’dya think you’re in a place to ask for anything, huh, kid?” Rumlow pressed, flicking up an eyebrow, stopping his steady movement forward only when Steve’s back had come to rest, unconsciously, against the opposite wall.

The slender young man drew in a level breath lifting his chin. “My cellmate.” Steve said tightly, wetting his lips as he haltingly continued. “My cellmate, I- _I think he’s gonna hurt me.”_

 _“The Soldier?_ ” Rumlow asked, Steve’s eyes briefly flickering as he processed the title. He hadn’t thought his cellmate was a soldier, but...now that Agent Rumlow said it, it made sense...he _moved_ like a soldier. Like he was trained, and deadly, and Steve swallowed dipping his head in a nod. Rumlow quirked an eyebrow, his deep set eyes boring into Steve. “What’s he doing to you?”

Suddenly his face was burning, his stomach turning hot with discomfort and shame. He wanted to be able to tell himself he could handle this- that he didn’t need to ask help from the man who’d put him in this position in the first place. But he _did;_ Steve _desperately_ needed help, and right now, Agent Rumlow was the only other person in his suddenly very small, very _frightening_ world. “He’s touching me.” Steve admitted helplessly, his eyes flickering up to Agent Rumlow. _Please help- please- he just didn’t want to be hurt-_

But suddenly, his mouth just curled into a smirk, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Not surprised.” He said easily, sounding completely unconcerned- _entertained_ even. “ _You’re his treat.”_

Steve felt like he’d been thrown under a train.

What kind of sick world had he been dragged into? What kind of deranged monsters gave dangerous, silent soldiers _human beings_ as _treats?_ Steve pressed his weight back against the wall, bile rising in his throat, panic clawing at his weak heart. He blinked hard, his eyes snapping up from where they’d locked, staring straight through Agent Rumlow’s chest. He blinked again, face drawn, and ashen.

“I’m- his…?”

“ _Treat_ .” Rumlow supplied, tipping his head to the side. “That’s not the _only_ reason you’re here- in fact, it’s just a tiny part of it, but...the Soldier has done well for us for a very long time, and the thing about Hydra is, it _does_ give back.” His head straightened, his braced arm bending as he leaned a little close, the words spoken intimately between them, like a secret. “Hydra’s rough, Stevie...It _takes_ , and it takes _a lot_ , but if you play your part...keep in line...It gives _so much_ back…You’re a reward for him.” His tongue slid out, wetting his lips as he flicked his eyebrows up, meeting Steve’s gaze. “Pay your dues, and you’re gonna get all kinds of nice things too…”

Steve stared in mute horror.

All thoughts of trying to find human decency in Rumlow evaporated. He was _sick-_ he was a _sick, deranged_ man, and Steve pulled his head back from him, his neck aching as he craned away from that face with the twisted, crooked smirk, and the glinting, manic eyes.

“You’re _insane.”_ Steve rasped, and Rumlow’s eyes flashed darkly.

For a moment, Steve thought he was going to hurt him, but after a second, Rumlow eased back, his mouth twisting as he gave a loose shrug, taking Steve’s arm tightly once more. “Say what you want.” He said easily, drawing Steve away from the wall. “But you’ll understand soon enough. Hydra doesn't beat around the bush. We take what we want, and whether you like it or not _you’re_ a part of that, so get used to it kid.” His eyes turned away from Steve, his fingers tapping at a keypad beside the door.

Steve’s eyes locked on the hand on his arm, his stomach in knots. He felt sick- he felt wrong all over. He felt like Rumlow’s words had crept inside him and made a nest in his ribs. He...He was his _treat-_ The dirty, silent soldier’s _treat_...the thought made him want to puke.

_“Is he gonna rape me?”_

Steve had never heard himself sound so _small._ He usually picked his words carefully, and layered them with strength, and certainty. It was his best weapon with a physique like his. But the question slipped him without thought. Without power. He sounded _tiny,_ and _fragile,_ and _scared._

Rumlow scoffed, throwing a glance his way, his fingers stilling on the keypad. “Come on-” He said with a bark of laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re _scared_ of that.” He jeered, Steve hating himself more and more for hoping he could trust him.

His head lowered, eyes dropping away, as anger at his own helplessness flared up in his chest. “Don’t bait me-” He snapped, pulling against the grip on his arm, before something in him frozen, cracking deep insides his soul. “ _No one_ wants that…”

For a second, Rumlow stopped, his expression flashing with irritation as he let out a hissing sigh through his teeth. “Look kid-” He said, tossing him the kind of glance you gave a child whose questions had been sweet, and endearing, and had now become abruptly grating. “The Soldier doesn't do much without orders. I _don’t_ think he’s gonna _rape_ you.” Steve hated how inconsequential it sounded. Like Steve was stupid to think it was even a possibility. But he hadn’t been in the cell last night. He hadn’t been there when he’d trapped him against his body for hours. He hadn’t been there that morning when he’d tried to tell him he liked it…

“I ain’t saying he won’t get handsy with you, but something tells me he’s just real happy to see you.” Rumlow continued finishing punching in the code to the door. “My advice?” He pressed, his gaze flickering over. “Relax a bit. The Soldier’s pretty docile when he doesn’t have orders, _hell-_ you might even like it.”

Steve scoffed, but the sound broke as nausea rose up in his throat.

Rumlow moved his thumb towards the print scanner, but suddenly stopped, his head turning sharply towards Steve. “Oh, and a bit of free advice?” He prompted, Steve barely managing to flicker his gaze up to him. But Rumlow’s grip tightened on his arm, pulling him in until Steve balked at the closeness, pulling his head back with a strangled gasp through his teeth. The man leaned in, deep set eyes boring into Steve’s. _“Don’t tell anyone here what you’re afraid of._ ” He breathed, low, and cold, his eyebrows lifting as Steve’s horror-struck eyes finally met his. “Cause I _know_ what’s coming for you. They’re gonna need to break you, Cap, and whoever’s assigned to that, is going to use all kinds of nasty tricks, and they’re gonna use everything they know you’re scared of. _Now…”_ He pressed, Steve shuddering as he eased close. “I’m not saying I’m champing at this bit to do this- but if they pick me to be the one to break you, you’ve just told me something that scares you to death…”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach plunging as his head pulled away from Rumlow’s face, his chest heaving, mouth slack with horror. The man’s eyes flickered down his body, darting back up to his face, as he reached up, patting his cheek sharply; Steve flinching away with a strangled gasp.

“Just a bit of free advice.” He recapped easily, straightening up and pressing his thumb to the scanner. “But on that note, you _don’t_ wanna lose your virginity during a breaking- you’ll never enjoy sex again. If I were you I’d really find someone half decent to pop your cherry. ”

“What, like _you?”_ Steve spat, something in him coming back a bit. The fog of sick horror had thinned, and Steve could feel the anger that burned in his chest surfacing again. He hadn’t asked for any of this- and the thought that he’d given up information that could be used to hurt him only made him more angry at this whole, fucked up situation, but...more angry at himself to. If he’d thought he could trust Rumlow for even an instant, he was as delusional as his captor.

“I never suggested that.” He said in an easy rumble, the light beside the scanner blinking as the door opened automatically, Steve jerking back in surprise- _where the hell was all this tech coming from?_ Steve had no idea this was even _possible._ Rumlow tugged him a little closer again, his sharp eyes flickering over him once more. “Sweet of you to ask, but I don’t do minors.”

“I’m _twenty-_ ” Steve snapped defensively. Looking smaller, and younger than he was, a definite sore spot for him. But Rumlow’s smirk just widened, and Steve realized sickly that he’d just given him more ammunition.

“Huh- There’s no problem then. Since little Stevie Rogers is legal and everything…”

Steve lurched away, clamping his mouth shut. Everything he said just made this worse. He tried to ask for a new cell, and he’d ended up divulging a fear that could be used against him. He’d snapped back a retort and put himself on Agent Rumlow’s sexual radar, and then yanked the rug out from under his own feet. Rumlow, _apparently,_ wouldn’t have touched him if he was a minor...and because Steve couldn’t keep his fucking pride in check, then -unless by some miracle consent _meant_ something to this insane bastard- _it was open season._

Rumlow watched as Steve hunched his shoulder away from him, as though the narrow, boney slip of his figure would be strong enough to keep the whole world out. Like the strength of his anger alone would be enough to keep anyone from laying a finger on him. The kid was nieve. Hydra was going to break him, but then...Rumlow’s mouth tugged up into a smile. But then they were going to make him something _so much better_ than the frail, scared thing he was now. He’d understand then. He’d understand how sweet order was; how much relief could come from giving yourself up to a higher purpose.

When Hydra was finished with him... _god-_ he’d be _beautiful_.

“Come on, Cap.” Rumlow sighed, all but dragging the defensive young man through the door. _“It’s time to get your temperature taken.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you so much for reading, and commenting. Every thought you share with me is so very appreciated, and it goes so a long way in keeping me motivated in my writing. Thank you all again, and I can't wait to hear your feedback on chapter two!  
> See you all next monday!


	3. Meetings with Higher Powers

‘ _Getting his temperature taken_ ’ translated to the most thorough, and invasive medical examination Steve had even been though in his entire life.

Agent Rumlow all but dragged him through the doors, hauling his tense, squirming body through the sprawling medical center floor, and hoisting him easily up onto a steel examination table. _Steve hated that._ He _hated_ how easily, and casually Rumlow manhandled him- like he did it without thinking- and his pulse spiked as he strapped Steve’s wrists down, tying him down for the doctors to deal with him. He walked away without another word, leaving Steve, surrounded by impersonal medical staff, in the massive sterilized room.

And only then did Steve get a look around, and feel his stomach drop with dizzying, disorienting confusion. Because Steve had spent the better part of his life in a hospital. He _knew_ what the best technology looked like, but he’d never, even in his _dreams,_ seen medical technology that even held a candle to the equipment surrounding him.

Steve was strapped to one of at least ten polished steel examination tables. The floor was a polished white tile that gleamed underfoot, and each wall was floor to ceiling shelves of instruments and filing cabinets. There were computers with monitors thinner than a briefcase, and the medical staff that swarmed the area were all working off of some kind of hand held screen rather than clipboards.

Steve was so utterly blindsided by the technology, _completely_ disproportionate to what he knew, that he almost didn’t realize that the examination was starting.

Steve startled, jerking as a female doctor undid the buttons of his shirt, pressing a cold stethoscope to his bony chest. She silently checked his vision, and hearing. And even when Steve began to speak to her in a low, urgent voice- even when he _begged_ her to help him- she just kept on with her work. _It was like he wasn’t even there._

Steve lost track of everything she did to him. There were needles, and scanners, and bright lights. There were samples that were needed, and when Steve didn’t comply easily, they were taken with efficiently trained force. Hair was yanked out, skin samples scratched out with a sharp instrument- his jaws pried apart to swab the inside of his cheek. His unwashed slacks and boxers were yanked unceremoniously down around his ankles, and for all Steve’s blind terror towards his cellmate, and the Agent guarding him, it was the doctor’s gloved fingers that invaded his body. They prodding up inside him, systematically feeling him while Steve whimpered, and squirmed -bound- on the examination table.

Even though there was no interest in the touch- even though it was purely procedural, Steve couldn’t help but feel violated. His breath came hard, body trembling, and it was almost a mercy when one of the doctors gave him a light sedative. It sent his mind just far enough away to numb the nauseous tension deep in his gut- just enough to leave Steve laying -pliant- while she continued on with the examination. After a little while, she left, leaving Steve on the table, his dirty shirt open against his narrow chest as two other medical staff finished undressing him.

Dimly, Steve remembered he should be panicking, but his body wouldn’t respond; it just lay there, heavy, and limp as his clothing was discarded and warm water was sponged over his body. His hair was wet, and scrubbed, while they washed his body with a neutral, generic smelling soap. It smelled too sterile for him, like it was designed to smell like nothing at all. Steve had let his heavy eyes fall closed as hands patted his skin dry with a cloth, and clothing that didn’t smell like two days of sweat, and sour fear, slid back on over his clean body. He was lucid enough to know that was _all_ that happened. He was lucid enough to feel a wave of numbing relief wash over him when he was finally clothed again. It was better though...he was clean, and in fresh clothing. His body felt heavy, and relaxed, and for the first time since this nightmare started, Steve imagined he could rest….

_And then Rumlow was back._

Hard hands undid the restraints around Steve’s wrists, and a raw moan of exhaustion slipped the frail young man’s lips as he was hauled from the examination table. He felt sore, and wrong. They must have given him more injections while he was under than he could remember, because his arms, and thighs ached at the site of dozens of needle injections, pumping drugs in, and drawing samples out. He felt ill all over, and Rumlow hauled him from the table like a ragdoll.

“Up and attem, Cap…” He growled, Steve catching his breath as he got his feet underneath him, gripping the edge of the table for support as light headedness washed through him. And Rumlow’s mouth cracked into a smirk. “Looks like the docs did a number on you…” He mused noting the ghostly pallor of Steve face, and the patches on his frail arms over the sights of multiple injections.

Steve barely managed another moan, the first, female doctor pausing briefly to shake two big white pills into his slack hand. His eyes flickered up, still a little glaze from the sedative. “What?” He asked softly, looking down at the pills before his eyes drifted helplessly back up. He’d had no choice in the injections, but the more Steve’s functionality came back, the less he wanted to go swallowing down whatever they handed him.

“Iron supplements. Take them.” She instructed shortly, and Steve downed the pills without a second thought. It wasn’t the half pound of liver he was used to, but if it was an iron supplement, he’d take it. He could feel the imbalance in his blood. He could feel it fucking with his head- making it spin, and throb. He could feel it tightening his chest. Steve only hoped that he would be given enough of these supplement pills to help. He swallowed again stiffly, trying to chase away the discomfort in his throat from having swallowed the pills dry, before he let out a low breath, eyes flickering up to Rumlow.

“Alright…” He breathed heavily, still bracing himself on the examination table. “ _Now_...Now I get answers.”

Rumlow’s mouth curled, his hand gripping Steve’s upper arm, more for support than restrained, and he tugged him away from the examination table. Steve’s knees felt rubbery underneath him. His limbs still felt heavy from the sedative, but he was lucid, and alert, and functional enough to know that whatever answers he got....he wasn’t going to like them.

“Sure kid, whatever makes you shut up.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve could feel his pulse in his throat.

The cloudiness from the sedative was rapidly falling away, and Steve’s breath was coming in shallow, hissing puffs from between clenched teeth. The further Agent Rumlow took him from the cell, the more the facility changed from impersonal gray, to stark, corporate white. His cell, and the maze of rooms and hallways around it had been industrial, and cold, and bleak. It had grown dull, unlike the highly polished medical bay. _And that was just the middle step._ From the medical bay, Agent Rumlow took Steve up an elevator that was faster, smoother, and more sleek than any Steve had ever seen. He took him down carpeted hallways with perfectly smooth white walls, and glass fronts looking into sprawling offices. He stopped him short in front of a huge, honey-brown, wood door, his grip tightening on Steve’s upper arm.

“Alright, Cap,” He said in a low tone, that offered no room for argument. “This is Director Alexander Pierce’s office. You’re gonna meet with him, and if you cause any trouble, I swear to god I’ll drug your ass and pitch you right back in with the Soldier, understand?”

Steve felt his stomach turn weakly at the thought. He pinched his lips together, his teeth clenched, head dipping in a shallow nod of agreement, as Rumlow watched him with those sharp, calculating, dark eyes.

“Good…” He said heavily, before turning, and pressing his finger to a button on an intercom device beside the door. “Director Pierce? Steve Rogers.” At the words, the heavy doors clicked, opening inward automatically, slow, and silent, parting to reveal the office of the man Steve presumed to be behind this whole, sick joke of fate.

It was large, and minimalistic; all polished steel, glass, and white linoleum. All speaking of a powerful leader with the world at his fingertips. Agent Rumlow took him through the doors, releasing his arm before stepping back, and standing impersonally near the door, as though -unless his services were required- he was little more than part of the decor. Steve steadied his feet under him, hunger, and the lingering sedatives making him unsteady, and he grabbed the edge of a long, black conference table as his eyes lifted to the figure at the other end of the office.

Slowly, he stepped forward, Steve’s weak eyes translating a blur of line, and color into a man- well beyond middle aged- with graying blond hair, and a relaxed benevolent expression. His posture was loose, but composed, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled forward, his eyes drinking in the slight figure supporting himself against the table's edge. Steve looked back with eyes laced with fear, and rage.

“Hello Rogers,” He greeted, a false warmth in his tone, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, but they remained cold somewhere behind the pale blue irises. His hands came loosely to his sides, before opening in a welcoming gesture. “You have no idea how glad I am that you were able to join us.”

Steve’s brow drew into a knot, his eyes growing dark with suspicion. “You have no idea how thrilled I am to be here…” Steve responded, his voice thick with  disbelief, and disgust, his fingers tightening on the black steel table.

The man- the Director paused, his eyes flashing before that warm, insincere smile widened by a tiny, strained twitch, his gaze as as cold as the steel table beneath his hands. “Now Captain- forgive me- _Steve-_ ” He corrected himself, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “I realize this process has had a rough start for you, but I promise if you’ll give me your attention, and perhaps...an _iota_ of respect, I’m sure I could help you understand everything that has occurred.”

_This guy had to be kidding._

He was in control, he knew the process, the secrets, the reasoning. He knew Steve had been taken, _and_ why. Steve doubted he was ignorant of the way he’d been kept, and he asked for his _respect_ _?_ Steve almost scoffed aloud, his eyebrows arching as a muscle in his jaw twinged. “ _Respect_ …” He murmured under his breath, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “ _I bet you'd like that.”_ His eyes snapped up, vindictive rage flushing through his narrow chest, gaze burning as he stared up at him. “Why am I here? What do you and your...corporation of _goons_ want with me?” Steve didn’t even bother to disguise the sharpness- the disgust in his tone. Every second he spent in the room with this man he hated him more and more. The relaxed demeanor- the grandfatherly smile- the subtly threatening command for a respect he’d done nothing to deserve. Steve _hated_ it. And he wasn’t going to let himself be cowed into playing dead for him. After all, what could he do? _Lock him up?_ Steve set his teeth, eyes burning into the director.

Slowly, the smile on the man’s lips faded, his benevolent, expression turning cold, and hard, and somehow it made Steve feel better. He could respect _this_ more than the warm coddling air of camaraderie he’d tried to cultivate. “You’re in a very delicate position, Rogers,” Director Pierce cautioned him, his hand curling over the back of one of the chairs, his knuckles tightening under soft, crinkled skin. “We’ve brought you here give you an opportunity, but I’m not afraid to settle for simply removing you as a threat.”

This time, the scoffing bark of laughter _ripped_ from Steve’s throat, his eyes snapping around in disbelief. _Was anyone else hearing this?_ “R- _Removing_ me as a _threat?”_ He stammered out of sheer, stunned disbelief. “You can’t be serious, if your- your operation here, your drug ring, human trafficking ring, _whatever_ the hell this _freak show_ is- considers _me_ a _threat,_ I hate to tell you but you’re in for a rude shock.” He snapped, anger pulling a flush of red to his sallow cheeks. “Y’know, there are police- military, people who _actually_ pose threats to operations like this, but if you wanna start with some some anemic teenager with a heart condition, _be my guest!_ I mean- I’m sure I could pass on a cold to your delivery boy or something.”

“You’re underestimating your involvement, Rogers.” Pierce said tightly, his ice cold eyes glittering with a warning.

“ _Am I?”_ Steve scoffed, biting off the rest of the comment at the look in the Director's eyes.

He stared him down, steely, and hard, Steve meeting his gaze with ferocity, and loathing. After a long second, the Director turned away. He walked past Steve, stepping around the table to the huge glass window dominating most of the west wall, the view overlooking a city like Steve had never seen before. His hands clasped loosely behind him again, and Steve watched as he subtly reign in the ice cold temper that had started to push up through the cracks in his mask. “Steve…” He started, switching back to the familiar address, the fake warmth seeping back into his tone. “Have you been paying very much attention to your surroundings? The office? The elevators? The medical bay? You... _were_ in the medical bay, weren’t you?”

Steve didn’t bother to respond, but the Director wasn’t deterred.

“You’ve seen things since arriving here that you’ve never seen before, am I right? Computers that can fit in your hand, medical technology you’ve never _dreamt_ of- I’m sure you were familiar with the technology of the time, considering your mother-”

“Get to the point-” Steve snapped abruptly, his heart wrenching inside his chest at the memory of Sarah. He didn’t want this man so much as _thinking_ about her much less _speaking_ of her. But as much as he’d wanted to block him out...he was right. Steve had never seen anything like this technology before being kidnapped. He’d never seen a city that looked like the one right outside the massive window…

The Director raised his eyebrows, nodding once in agreement. “You’re no longer in your time, Rogers.” He said, his voice clear, and level, spoken over his shoulder towards Steve in a raised tone. “1938 is long gone. The world moved on without you when you disappeared in late november of that year. You were declared dead after a year, and no one, least of all _history,_ remembers you. Your future in that timeline is now extinct, and whether you like it or not, your life pick up here. _2014.”_

“I’ll admit, it’s a lot to take in.”

Steve _laughed-_ outright _laughed-_ short derisive, and dripping with scorn. _“Right-”_ He managed, his shoulder giving a jerky little shake as a breaking scoff of laughter bubbled up from deep in his gut. It tasted like poison slipping his lips. “Right...okay,” Steve nodded, flexing his grip on the chair. “Of course, I’m...eighty years in the future because...that happens all the time right? _Totally possible.”_ He was being belligerent, and he knew it, but nothing in him gave a single fly fuck. This guy was trying to tell him his time- his life, and everyone he knew was _gone,_ and expecting him to just _believe_ it? He was as sick and insane as Agent Rumlow.

“After eighty years of technical advancements, and with the help of the most brilliant scientific programs in the world. _Yes. Completely_ possible, but I understand your skepticism, so...if you’d.... _indulge_ an old man for a few minutes more, I’d like to tell you what _would_ have been the course of your life had Hydra not intervened...I’m sure it will clear everything up beautifully.” He said, his mouth softening into a smile at the end before going cold once more, his feet taking him back around to Steve; back to stand in front of him, towering over the slight figure. “In 1942, you would have signed up for an experimental military procedure after being rejected, 4F, from _six_ different enlistment offices. You would have been the first, successful test subject for a special serum that would have turned you into the world's first super soldier...You’d become an icon of the people - _Captain America-_ and with that new strength, you would go on to wreak havoc on the start of this very organization.”  His eyes were level, and dead serious, Steve’s mocking disbelief turning into disquieted fear as the realization ate deeper, and deeper that this was a _complete mad man_. His words were cold, and clear, and certain, but.. _.it wasn’t possible...there was no way._

“In 1945 you would destroy Project Valkyrie, by crashing an aircraft full of explosives into the arctic, effectively making yourself the sacrificial lamb, and going down with the ship...assumed dead until 2011.” His voice trailed off, softening, his eyes still burning into Steve’s appalled expression. “You were recovered, _alive,_ from the ice... _and Hydra knew something had to be done.”_

 _“_ You’re..." Steve started, sounding ill. "I was gonna go with sick, but manic seems more appropriate, this is-” He faltered helplessly, suddenly taking a sharp step back to distance himself from the Director. “This is _delusional,_ okay?” He snapped. “And somehow you’ve got those people believing it too, but... _this isn’t possible_. There no- _super serum-_ there’s no _time travel,_ I don’t know what you get out of this, but _I just want to go home!”_

“You don’t _have_ a home anymore, Steve.” Pierce reminded him briskly, smoothing over the cold intensity that had flashed on his face. “Everyone you’ve ever met is either dead or in a nursing home. Your disappearance left almost no trace on history. _No one cared_ that you were gone, and _because_ you were gone, Project Valkyrie was able to be completed. Hydra took control, brought order.” He pressed looking back to him, Steve’s stomach turning as he remembered how Agent Rumlow had spoken of order before- like it was the highest state humanity could achieve. Pierce’s eyes were alight with the same mania that had burned in Rumlow, and Steve felt fear stirring deep in his chest.

“There were... _difficulties_. There are many organizations that rose up against us- that did not believe in order being the optimal state of the world...those who would breed chaos... _Avengers, the SSR, Stark Industries,_ and other. But their foot hold is weak. After Project Insight, they’ll be easily dealt with...Theses.. _.harbingers of chaos_ with be dealt with, and the world can finally have peace... _We want you to be a part of that, Steven_ …” He added, softly, almost a side note. “You’ve proven yourself to be a perfect candidate for the serum before...We’ve recreated it. We can make you strong. _Healthy._ You’re life doesn't have to be meaningless...you don’t have to hold to the mistakes you would have made in your other life. You can still do good in this world.” He pressed, stepping towards him earnestly, his palms open again, as though welcoming Steve into an embrace, ready to absorb him into this sick delusion he’d created, and somehow imposed on every other person in this complex. His eyes were clear, and bright with some twisted sense of affection, or pride, like he was looking at a very small child with potential no one else saw. He eased in closer, his hands coming to rest on Steve’s arms, gripping him earnestly.

“ _You can help us,_ Steven... _Protect_ people just like you’ve always wanted. You can help us bring them peace, and-”

 _“Order?”_ Steve finished, feeling sick. And Director Pierce nodded, his eyes warming again as his hand came to the side of his head, patting the way he might a grandchild.

“ _That’s right…_ ” He said in a praising tone. “A world of peace, and order...it would be _beautiful,_ Steve.”

Steve’s lips parted, his eyes flickering up to the Director, his stomach turning. “I- I want to go…” He said in a low tone, his voice softer- weaker than he would have like it, but Pierce just smiled the corners of his eyes crinkling as he fondly patted his cheek once more.

“You’ve had a long day I understand,” He said opening his mouth to continue when Steve’s eyes flashed up, his expression twisting.

 _“No-”_ He said tightly. “No- I wanna _go_ . I wanna go _home_ , I- I’m done with this sick game- I wanna go home, _I wanna go back to Bucky-”_

 _“Bucky,”_ The Director repeated in mild surprise, turning his back to Steve as he walked over to a small table, pouring himself a glass of scotch from a heavy glass bottle. Steve nodded frantically, anxiety scratching inside his chest.

 _“You_ said no one cared I was gone, well _he_ does-” He said shortly, feeling himself babbling, but the sudden wave of anxiety wouldn't quiet, his knuckles turning bloodless from his grip on the table. _“He’s_ looking for me, he’s worried- I’ve gotta get back to him. I- I need to go home-” Steve blurted, suddenly turning his feet taking him blindly towards the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was useless -Rumlow was right there- but...he had to get out of here...Everyone here was dangerous, and insane, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand anyone else talking to him like this was normal.

Rumlow’s heavy, hard arm thumped across his chest, Steve stopping at the impact, his body shuddering with coiled tension. _He just wanted to go home- he just wanted Bucky-_

“Agent-” The Director called, taking a shallow sip of his scotch. “I'm sure there will be time to discuss this further another time, so...considering Captain Rogers current state, why don't you do as he says...”

Steve’s stomach swooped. His heart faltered in his chest, even though cynicism told him it couldn't be true. He was just taunting him. They weren't gonna take him back to Bucky.

But Rumlow’s mouth curved up in a smirk, his eyes glinting darkly, as he hauled Steve close, gripping his upper arm once more. “Yes sir,” he acknowledged lowly, the Director granting him a nod, and Rumlow turned, opening the doors and dragging Steve, leaving the cold, impersonal figure if the director behind them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve had already known it was just a taunt, but his heart still twisted with grief as he was dragged back down the gray, industrial hallways. He still felt the burning sting of tears in his eyes as the cell door was unlocked, and pulled open to reveal the gaping blackness, and the shadowy figure waiting for him.

_He was never getting back to Bucky._

Instead, he was thrown back into the darkness; _back in with the Soldier._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve stumbled, nearly crashing into the Soldier’s broad chest as Rumlow shoved him in, the door shuddering closed behind him, and Steve recoiled; dizzy, and sick. He blinked rapidly, blotches in his vision from the light, but his eyes were adjusting quicker, and quicker now, and he jerked back as he saw the Soldier reach for him.

“Touch me and I’m gonna start breaking fingers.” Steve snapped.

It was an empty threat, and he and his cellmate both knew it. But his fight against the invasiveness of his touch was the one shred of dignity Steve had in this place. Even if it was useless, he couldn’t just _stop._ But his tone had momentarily stalled the soldier, and Steve turned his back on him, his shoulders rigid. “I don’t have time for this right now…” It escaped him in a low, harsh murmur, his legs taking him into the corner of the cell, and Steve sunk down, drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding his head. Maybe if he just sat here quietly, in the dark, some of this insane shit would start making sense...If he just thought hard enough, maybe he could fathom some like of logic, or reason behind all this….

Steve let out a soft, involuntary moan, pressing deeper into the cushion of his arms as the Director’s words replayed in his mind. He _honestly_ believed he’d snagged him out of the past, that he’d stopped Steve potential future before he could become some...super hero in tights?...He was honestly trying to make Steve believe that he’d been dragged out of the mid nineteenth century, and that everyone he loved was...was _dead._

As much as he told himself he didn’t believe it, _that_ was what stuck with Steve. Because...the technology was here. It was impossible, and it was baffling, and just convincing enough that a weak part of Steve almost started to believe it. He hated himself for that. Hated himself for even _briefly_ imagining Bucky dead- imagining Buck’s little sister Rebecca an old woman...He hated himself for imagining the aged shadows of the boys he and Bucky had played stickball with in the street. He knew it wasn’t possible, but…the thought made his heart ache. I made him want to cry.

Director Pierce had believed it... _every word_ , and so had Rumlow... _that_ scared him. That made his gut turn sour, and his heart twist. These weren’t people locked up in a psyche ward...These were _leaders,_ and _soldiers,_ and...and his _captors._ These insane men were his _captors,_ and that was one of the most frightening thoughts that crossed Steve’s mind. Because they were wholly committed to this delusion, and that meant they were more than willing to hurt, or kill him over it.

The soft scuff of feet against concrete jolted him out of his thoughts, and Steve curled in closer to himself, anger flushing inside his stomach as he realized his lashes were wet again. He pressed into the corner, tense, and defensive as the Soldier eased down onto his knees in front of Steve, his muscular figure blocking him in from the rest of the cell. Steve couldn’t help but remember Agent Rumlow’s sickening revelation...that he was this man’s _treat_ for complying to Hydra. He was his reward...just what Steve had been afraid of from minute one.. _.his toy._

“I said leave me alone...” Steve rasped, his voice broken, and husky, a shiver running up his shoulders as something loosely touched Steve’s leg, but...it wasn’t his hand- _either_ of them, metal, or flesh. It crinkled, like packaging, and Steve blinked his burning eyes, his head lifting just to strain for a tiny glimpse through the darkness.

 _A food bar of some sort-_ packaged and sealed in a plastic wrapping.

The Soldier knelt in front of him, his shadowed figure awkwardly still as he pressed it loosely against Steve’s drawn up knees, drawing his attention to it. Steve’s head lifted, eyes growing dark with suspicion, but his stomach clenched inside him. He hadn’t eaten in two days. He was _starving,_ and...it _was_ sealed...and even if it had been drugged, it didn’t make a difference, Steve had realized that long ago. The only reason the Soldier hadn’t taken advantage of him yet was because he hadn’t decided to. Not because of anything Steve had done. But one way or another, his body cried out of food, and Steve shifted cautiously, one hand reaching slowly for the bar.

His hands were shaking, from fear, and low blood sugar, as Steve received the silent offering. Steve felt like he was vibrating, the trembling getting worse the longer the man knelt in front of him. The plastic wrapping crinkled loudly in the tiny space as he struggled with it, the conflicting, built up emotions of distress bubbling close to the surface as his throat tightened irrationally. It was just a bit of wrapping, but that fact that he couldn’t make his own hands work with him enough to open it cracked the dam, and suddenly the anxiety and distress that had been threatening all day broke over him like a wave.

Steve let out a low, strangled sound, his hands trembling violently as he jerked at the wrapping, his whole body suddenly shaking as a few, hot tears slid down his face.

And suddenly, the Soldier reached forward.

Steve flinched back, feeling the cold metal hand close over his, and he stopped, chest heaving, eyes squeezed closed, as he craned away from him. And then slowly, the opposite hand came forward, the Soldier neatly opening the wrapping, and closing Steve’s shaking fingers back around the bar.

His eyes flashed open, for a moment, just staring up at the stranger, before an animalistic hunger surged through him, and Steve wolfed down the bar. It was tasteless, and mealy, but dense, and the small bar seemed to fill his stomach, soothing the twisting, clenching hunger gnawing at his insides. His throat, and jaw hurt from swallowing down the hard, dense bar so quickly, and he felt vaguely nauseous, but...in a small way... _better_.

Steve sat with his head rested back against the wall, his earlier tears of built up stress, and frustration drying on his cheeks, his hands limp in his lap, the empty wrapper still held loosely in one hand. The Soldier hadn’t moved all the while. Slowly, Steve’s eyes opened again, his gaze falling to the figure, and something like cautious shame tugged at his insides. He’d given him food...He’d helped him get it open when he’d been too distressed and frustrated to even think. Since snapping at him upon entering...he hadn’t tried to touch him again.

Steve wet his lips, still feeling a little sick as his body tried to process the sudden amount of dense nutrient, but he sat forward none the less, his movements slow, and controlled. “Thank you.” He said lowly, flat and betraying no emotion. He wasn’t ready for that just yet. He was still scared of this man. He still wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t hurt him, and the knowledge that he was here as this man’s treat certainly didn’t make it easier to trust him. But Steve knew an olive branch when he saw one. A truce didn’t mean trust, but it _should_ mean some amount of civility.

The Soldier Inclined his head in a tiny nod; still crouched in front of him.

Slowly, Steve folded his legs crossways underneath him, rather than drawn up defensively against his chest. He cleared his throat, eyes flickering between dark corners of the room, before very cautiously landing on his cellmates face. Something in him had been afraid to look for too long. Afraid of what he’d see- afraid of how the Soldier would react- or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to look at the face of the man who’d terrorized him that first night and told him he’d liked it. But now, Steve let his gaze slowly fall on his face, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

The longer he looked, the more he could make out.

 _Stubble-_ but he’d known that already. His eyes were deep set, and there was something disturbing about him- something disturbingly _familiar,_ like a distant relation of someone he’d once met- a distant relation who’d aged under the frightening, and miserable conditions here. Steve couldn’t see everything, but the longer he looked, the more disquieted he felt.

He quickly dropped his eyes away.

He couldn’t do that right now. His day had already been strange, and disturbing enough already, he didn’t need to torture his frightened mind over who his cellmate resembled. Glancing away, Steve drew his knees back up to his chest. “The Director-” He started haltingly, his words sounding stilted, and overly-loud in the small space. “The Director, and Agent Rumlow, they’re...they’re sick...right?” He asked, his body prickling with goosebumps. He wasn’t used to trying to speak to someone like the Soldier, particularly not with the way he’d handled him in the past two days. He was silent, unresponsive, and Steve prompted again haltingly. “They’re insane...they- they've got this elaborate-” Steve's voice abruptly cracked off. Because it was _too_ impossible, _too_ insane. Steve felt sick in the head just retelling it, and it wasn't even his delusion. He let out a raw huff, his eyes falling closed as he curled in on himself once more, but this time, it wasn't to huddle away from the Soldier. More to hold himself together, or block all the insanity out.

He heard the Soldier move again. He heard him easing forward, felt the body heat radiating off of him, and the energy in his stare as he leaned in, and slowly shifted to sit with his back to the wall. Steve caught his breath, but everything had gone still. The Soldier sat beside him, his knees loosely bent, his eyes straight ahead. His arms rested loosely over his knees. He didn't move any closer. He didn't touch him.

“They _are_ insane... _right?”_ Steve asked in a small voice, not sure where this sudden dynamic had come from. Ten minutes ago he’d been threatening to break this man’s fingers, and now...Now they sat side by side in the corner of the dark cell. The Soldier had fed him, and Steve was showing vulnerability out of something other than terror. He’d been vulnerable the first night, but that had been because he was frightened, and physically outmatched- he’d been _forced_ to be vulnerable then, but now...the words escaping Steve were so soft, and so desperate, and Steve began to think that maybe he just wanted _reassurance._ Maybe his strength was fraying, and he was hungrily seeking someone to hold him together. For a brief few minutes, he’d thought he could find that in Rumlow when the Soldier had been the thing of his nightmare. Now the roles were switched. Rumlow, and Pierce were the ones to fear, and Steve tentatively sought support from the Soldier. He could be wrong again. He could turn out to be just as malicious and sick as his guard and the Director, but.. _.what other choice did he have?_ He couldn't keep on like this on his own.

Steve licked his lips haltingly, his eyes sliding over in the darkness to rest on the outline of those disquietingly familiar features, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. “It’s...not really 2014…is it?” He asked cautiously, half wishing he wouldn’t answer. But beside him, the Soldier drew in a level breath, the question seeming to turn over in his mind. His lips parted, and Steve’s chest ached with something he couldn’t place at the sight of them. Slowly, he shifted, his left arm reaching slowly across his body, holding out towards Steve, and Steve heard the low, hum of the machinery as it sleekly calibrated, and his breath hitched in his chest. All this incredible technology, and the most incredible he’d ever seen was right in the room with him.

Steve reached up, slow- halting, just the tips of his fingers touching the metal. But the Soldier seemed to invite his touch, holding the arm a little closer, so that Steve could run his fingers over it- feel the minute shifts in a prosthetic more advanced that Steve could have ever dreamed of. It was as much an answer as his words.

“The world has changed…” The reply was low, and quiet, the Soldier’s head turning slowly, his face falling back into complete shadow even as the energy from his eyes burned into him, and Steve drew his hands back sharply. “It’s...different than it used to be.. _.faster. Cleaner_ ….” Steve’s chest began to coil with tension, but something dropped off in the Soldier’s tone, so soft, and wistful- resonating deep in the pit of Steve’s heart. “I...I think I remember how it was before…”

Steve felt a knot pushing up in his throat.

_No. No._

He couldn’t be saying that. It couldn’t be real- _It couldn’t._ Because if everything they were saying was true, not only was this world so much darker, and more confusing, and cruel than Steve thought he could handle, but it meant his life was _gone._ His friends- old or dead. _Bucky- gone..._ Steve swallowed around the knot, hardly able to breath, as for the first time he let himself consider the madman's words as more than insane ramblings. Steve started to consider them as a possibility, and the thought terrified him to his core.

“Did they-” Steve’s voice broke, and he choked off abruptly, swallowing hard as he tipped his head back. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he leaned against the wall, his pale throat exposed in the darkness. He tried again in a low, strained whisper. “Did they take you too? _Like they took me?”_ Was this frightening, powerful man just a victim like himself?

The Soldier shifted, dropping his eyes away again. He could see his lips twitch- see him trying to form words, but the answer was either too complex, or too painful for him to put into words. After a long moment, his gave up, merely dipping his head in a nod.

Steve let out a breath of air, something heavy settling deep inside the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t muster a response to the man in his cell. He pulled his knees tighter up against him, his arms wrapped around himself as he ducked his head. Steve slumped into the corner of the cell, inches away from another of Hydra’s victims- a man who still frightened him- and tried to block it all out. But whether he liked it or not, the insanity surrounded him on all sides in the form of the cell around him- the man beside him- the guards, and the directors perpetuating in. He curled in on himself, and tried to forget.

_But the insanity was getting inside of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward to hearing all your comments! See you next week!


	4. Recognition

_The Soldier took him back to the cot again that night._

Steve had remained curled up in the corner of the cell all day, trying to convince himself that it wasn't true- that his life _hadn't_ just been yanked out from under him- He’d laid there, wedged in against the cold, hard wall, and told himself that he was _going_ to get out. That he was going to go home- _to Bucky_ … But eventually, the Soldier seemed to decide that it was late enough, and that he wasn’t going to let the frail, sickly boy spend the night on the freezing cold floor.

Easing closer, the Soldier had slipped his hands under him, Steve yelping in alarm, as he drew his tiny, slender frame into his arms, hoisting him easily into the air. The boy put up a brief struggle before the Soldier took him down on the hard narrow bed, restraining him tightly in his arms. Steve fought- but after a few minutes the jerks, and twists subsided, and he let out a rough- uncomfortable huff as he went still. His body was still tense but the few embarrassed murmurs of protest died on his lips, and Steve lay quietly in his arms.

Steve didn’t _want_ this to happen. He didn’t want to let himself grow complacent about the touch- and the steady, powerful manhandling. He didn’t want to let himself just ‘get used’ to being hauled around, restrained, and touched against his will just because it didn’t _hurt_ . Steve wasn’t ready to forgive the Soldier for the terror of the first night- not when it was branded into his memory. Not when he could still remember what that fear felt like- How it had twisted everything inside him into a tense, quivering knot as he waited to feel himself being forcibly ravaged. Even though nothing had come of it- even though the Soldier had gone no further than to wrap him in his arms, Steve still keenly remembered the fear. And that memory made it difficult to even _imagine_ trusting him.

But the Soldiers body was warm, and Steve reluctantly had to admit that it was better than the ice cold corner of the cell. His arms stayed wrapped around him, his hands- where Steve was comfortable with them, and Steve slowly let his muscles relax as he craned into the heat of the Soldier’s chest, and away from the chill in the air. He curled his fingers into his shirt, pressing his face into his chest to warm the numbness in his cheeks. And the Soldier just gathered him closer, wrapping Steve’s legs with his own until Steve was cocooned in his limbs.

He should be holding his ground....Steve shouldn’t be allowing himself to just be picked up- held- carried- stroked- at this man’s whim. He should be fight this…

_But it felt so good…_

The touch didn’t hurt- it seldom wandered, and it was _warm…_

Steve had swallowed back a knot in his throat, pressing closer still into the Soldier’s arms, and imagining that the warmth translated to _care_ , and _safety_ . It was too much to ask, but imagining was all Steve had anymore. And if he had to imagine that this man’s embrace was safe in order to keep himself from spiraling... _then that was just how it was..._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve felt a jolt deep in his chest when he realized the Soldier was still asleep.

Steve had never _actually_ seen him sleep before. Usually, exhaustion, and fear overtook him, and Steve slipped under long before the Soldier’s breathing evened out. He had been awake before Steve every time as well, but as Steve’s lashes fluttered open, his heart skipped strangely in his chest as he realized that the face, mere inches from his, was still slack, and unguarded. _He was asleep_ \- still, and Steve felt the surprise that rattled through his chest shift to quiet, hesitant curiosity.

Steve had never been able to see him this clearly before. His eyes were adjusting better, and better, and their faces were so close that Steve could feel the man’s breath on his lips. He was unaware of Steve’s lingering gaze, and slowly, Steve eased just a hair closer. He could make out the gentle dome of his closed eyelids. He could make out the loose set of his mouth, and the shape of his full lips. He could see the wideness in the bridge of his nose, and...and beneath the stubble...just a suggestions of a cleft chin.

And suddenly, the low level discomfort that Steve had felt looking at him the evening before, surged up his throat like a bought of nausea. His chest hitched sickly as horror crashed through his veins like an icy wave.

_Oh god-_

He _knew_ him.

The aborted jerk of his muscles startled the Soldier out of sleep, his eyes flashing open, and Steve strangled back a choke of surprise, and fear, suddenly shoving against his cell mate's chest. His bony knee jerked up, hitting the man’s stomach in a reflexive response of gut-wrenching horror, and the arms around him suddenly pulled back.

Steve wrenched away, all but falling off the cot, and stumbling back, his body suddenly trembling as nausea crashed over him in waves. _He knew him. He knew him._ Steve had been dragged here against his will- trapped- manhandled...and _he knew him._ Somehow- it made everything so much worse. Somehow, it made Steve’s skin crawl to think that sometime in his life, he had met this man. He’d looked him in the face before- spoken to him, and the realized turned Steve’s stomach sour, his lungs suddenly freezing inside him. He braced his hand against the freezing cell wall, catching in a ragged breath, his fingers curling reflexively as cracked nails dragged down the stone. Steve held himself up, panic clawing at his insides, his eyes fixed wide in the darkness as sick shudders took his body.

Steve didn't hear the Soldier move until he was right behind him.

At the last second before contact, Steve felt the heat of the man’s body as he eased close in behind his hunched figure, and Steve jerked around, his back flat against the wall, eyes fixed through the darkness in sick shock. The man stopped abruptly, his hand freezing an inch away from where Steve’s turned back had been seconds ago, his expression tightening at the abrupt movement.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his stared up at him, chest heaving in rattling, wheezing breathing, and his tongue slid out to wet his dry, cracked lips. “I- I know you.” Steve rasped into the darkness, shivering as he stared up at the dark, imposing figure standing over him. “I- I’ve met you. I know it- _Your...from my time-”_ God- he _hated_ saying that, because saying it made it _real_. Saying it meant his life really _was_ gone. Steve swallowed, tearing through his memories as the Soldier began to ease slowly closer. Had he been one of the homeless men on the street? Maybe he had worked odd jobs with him, or maybe...maybe he’d just passed him on the pier- just noted his face to sketch later. Steve remembered every face he ever drew. There was something about committing features, and expressions to paper that cemented them in his memory. And staring at this man’s face, Steve _knew_ he’d drawn him before, he _must_ have...He remembered his pencil scraping across the textured paper, creating that sound that felt like comfort, and home. He remembered seeing the dark lines of charcoal appearing in long, smooth arcs, and short, thin stroked on the page. He remembered shaping the full lips...the cleft chin. He remembered the long, delicate sweep of plush, dark lashes, but...The image in his mind was so _young-_ the shape of the cheeks in his mind so fresh, and boyish, and so _lovingly_ _committed_. It wasn’t the loose, scratchy sketch of a stranger. It was _tender_...and painstaking, and detailed. It was devotion in an honest portrayal. _It was love solidified in graphite, and paper._

Steve swallowed again, shaking as the confused, unsettled ache in his soul grew sharper, and sharper, his throat tightening as the Soldier’s breath just whispered through his hair. “I...I _know_ I’ve seen you, but...I can’t think of it-” He admitted brokenly, feeling suddenly like crying. The man in front of him looked like no one he’d ever met- yet at the same time, someone he’d know from birth. It was like looking at some dark, twisted version of something that had once been light, and beautiful, and suddenly the dim memory of the sketch in his mind didn’t seem quite so close. The eyes were all wrong...dark- Suspicious- _shattered_ . The eyes were a tortured concoction of anger, aggression, and fear. _There was no light in them._ There was no gleam like Steve remembered painstakingly scrubbing out with the end of his eraser to capture the life just right. That was it... _there was no life in the Soldier's eyes._

Steve’s eyes snapped up, helplessly, laced with hurt, and desperation. “Who are you?” He asked in a cracked tone, blood pounding through his head, his whole body aching, and Steve let out a shuddering little breath as the Soldier eased forward. His hand slid out, first, just brushing Steve’s arm, and then resting a little more fully, his shattered eyes twisted with conflicted loss. Like he wasn’t sure how to answer Steve at all.

“I’m... _no one…”_ The words were low, and soft, and Steve’s stomach plunged with frustration and confusion, his expression spasming with agony.

“No…” He murmured raggedly. “No- _No-_ You’re _someone-_ You’ve gotta be, I’ve met you before! I _know_ you!” Steve insisted, reaching forward instinctively, his hands anchoring in the Soldier’s shirt, gripping desperately as the man’s face flashed with startled surprise, and he drew back a half pace, staring at the fragile, haunted young man in front of him.

_But he knew him too…_

The Soldier knew very little. He didn’t know his own name. He didn’t know where he came from, or when he’d been brought here. He did as he was told, because anything else brought punishment, and torment, and pain. _But he remembered Steve…_

No matter how many times his handlers took his memories from him, the willowy boy with the golden hair eventually resurfaced. Sometimes, it was moments after the wipe, sometimes weeks, or months, but he _always_ remembered him...just a glimmer, just a glimpse. Just enough that he’d recognized him on that first night...just enough that he’d remembered that stroking his cheeks, and jaw, and holding him in his arms soothed his wracking sobs.

The Soldier knew him...Steve... _Stevie_ ....The Soldier couldn’t answer his question, but he _did_ know him.

He shook his head, tiny, and tight, watching as Steve’s face crumpled, his hands going slack in his shirt- head falling to his collar. He looked suddenly deflated, and empty. He looked helpless, and hollow, and...and _broken_. The Soldier dropped his eyes. He moved to step back, moved to ease away from Steve’s slumped figure, before he faltered, pausing for just a half second. The memories, and his reality didn’t aggree. In his few, fractured memories, this beautiful, delicate thing, laced with such determination and strength, pursued his affection- leaned into it- sought it. But the hard edged, fearful creature in front of him struck it away. He flinched, and squirmed, and struggled...he cried, and trembled like a brittle leaf...he despised what the Soldier only ever remembered him seeking...but he found himself driven to close the space between them once more, if only for this- if only for this one thing.

The Soldier moved back in. He let his body touch Steve’s, the boy’s forehead almost against his chest. He listened to the sharp intake of breath as he let his head lower and his mouth come down to rest close beside his left ear.

 _“I’m sorry…”_ He murmured, Steve shivering at the words.

The boy swallowed hard, the sound of his cell mate's voice seeping into him, quiet, and apologetic, and spoken into his left ear. The tone was layered with-

Wait.

His _left_ ear.

He’d spoken into his _left_ ear. Clearly. Purposefully. Like he’d known the right one was bad. Most people Steve had interacted with knew his hearing was bad- just like his sight- his heart- his lungs. The fact that he had a hard time hearing was no shock to anyone, but...there weren’t all that many that knew- or would _care_ to remember which ear was his bad one. But the Soldier’s gravitation towards his left had been so natural- so uncontrived. Like he hadn’t even thought about it. Like he was so used to it that it had been twisted into the strands of his muscle- down to his very DNA. Like no matter the years that had gone by, or the conditions he’d endured, it was still programmed deep into his muscle memory. And there was only one person Steve knew to respond to him like that.

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing, wide, and wet up to the Soldier, his breath hitching in his chest. The Soldier jerked slightly at the abrupt movement, pulling his head back sharply, expecting Steve to shove, or hit him away. But Steve just stared up at him, his mouth slack, horror crawling up his throat, as a name- a face, flitted just under the dark surface of his mind- just out of reach. But the flash of instant, horror stricken recognition he had thought he’d feel didn’t crash over him He could felt his chest knotting, his lungs burning from holding his breath, but the old face wouldn’t connect to this new one in front of him, and slowly, Steve let out a rattling breath. “You- M- My left ear…” He stammered, changing track mid sentence. “You talked into my _left_ ear-” Steve pressed, the Soldier’s face flashing with confusion in the darkness, Steve’s weak eyes straining to see the change. The Soldier was frozen in front of him. His eyes were fixed warily on him- expecting him to lash out, and Steve swallowed hard, consciously focusing on softening his expression. He eased the tension in his brow- blinked back the fog of alarm that glazed his eyes- and very cautiously, Steve eased a step closer.

“Can I-” He faltered, his hands twitching in front of him. Even with his eyes adjusted as much as they probably could it was still dark, and his vision was poor as it was. He was still missing so much….Steve licked his lips feverishly, raising his hands cautiously between them. “Could I... _touch? Please?”_

In a way, Steve hoped that asking permission might clue the Soldier in- somehow make him understand how uncomfortable, and frightened it made Steve when he grabbed him without warning- without consent. But he was also genuinely curious. Touch provided an aspect of the bigger picture that sight alone couldn’t accomplish, and despite the fear still clouding Steve’s heart, he _did_ want to know...he wanted to know who this man was...or at the very least who he _had been._

The Soldier blinked, taken aback by the request. His frail, frightened cellmate had never asked to touch him before. He’d allowed himself to be touched. He’d allowed himself to lay in his arms at night, but...he’d never _asked_ before, and the Soldier haltingly nodded. He wasn’t sure he understood why he would _need_ to ask anyways. After all, his body was a tool to be used, he lacked the vicious protectiveness over it that Steve held, because to the Soldier, his body wasn’t really _his_ . His body was _Hydra’s_ . _Steve’s_ was too now; _he just didn’t know it yet._

Steve eased closer- slow, and cautious, his hands lifting slowly, and coming to touch, feather light against the Soldier’s cheeks. His thin fingers were like ice- but still so very soft. He brushed over the Soldier’s cheekbones, following the line of his jaw as he arched onto tiptoes, their chests brushing as he stretched closer, and closer.

The Soldier could feel the boy’s breath on his lips. He could feel his heart racing as their bodies eased together- see his eyes widening as he mapped his face with freezing fingertips. He was so close...the Soldier’s heart suddenly seized with the desire to wrap him in his arms. He wanted to hug him, and never let go, he...he wanted to _kiss_ him, and the desire shook him to his core. It wasn’t in his programing. It wasn’t part of a mission, which meant that the Soldier wanted it for himself…

_And that meant he was more than a weapon._

Steve could feel his heart in his throat, the horror resurfacing, growing sharper, and sharper as every touch made the face more familiar- every brush of his fingers made him more and more sure he knew him. His fingers brushed over his nose, feeling the dip between his nose, and upper lip before tracing slowly over his mouth. _That mouth.._.he knew it...It was burned into his mind- like he’d spent his whole life staring, like...like he’d drawn it a hundred times, until he no longer even needed to look to know he’d committed it perfectly.

_Like he’d dreamed about how it would feel pressed against his._

_Like he’d imagined the sensation of it dragging, soft, and warm down his throat._

But there was no way. Because there had only ever been _one_ for Steve. Even on the odd chance that a nice gal had decided he was worth the time of day, Steve couldn’t imagine going steady, because the only person he wanted was the person he couldn’t have. The only person he _still_ wanted.. _.the only person he’d ever loved his entire life._

Suddenly, Steve’s expression contorted with horror, and agony so acute it pierced into the Soldier like a blade.

He jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his bony hands suddenly seizing the Soldier’s face, his eyes widening as the color drained from his sunken cheeks. “ _No-_ ” He whispered in a raw, broken rasp, tears suddenly spilling down his ashen cheeks as he shook his head- ragged, and shallow- his expression twisting with misery. “No- no _-no-no-no-no-no-_ No- _No-_ ” Steve’s hands suddenly uncurled from the Soldier’s jaw, grasping, feeling, and running all over his face, desperately searching for _anything_ that wasn’t Bucky- _anything_ to prove it wasn’t true.

 _But it was all there-_ The dark brows that had always looked so charming on his boyish face- The lips Steve had longed to kiss his entire life- The puckered, white scar on his temple from when Bucky had been climbing on the top of the swingset at school, and fell; splitting open his temple. _It was all there-_ and Steve’s felt his soul rip in two.

“No- no- _no-_ ” Steve begged, his body giving under the weight of the horror that clogged the darkness in his mind, and he slumped forward, his forehead pressing against the Soldier’s jaw, his hands still clinging to his face as he sobbed, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. “No- No...B... _Bucky-_ ”

The Soldier’s stared down at Steve in stunned silence, his lips parted, eyes wide as Steve shattered into a million pieces- as his heart tore- bleeding vicious, acute agony as he trembled against him, sobs ripping from his lungs. _It scared him._ Steve shouldn’t be sobbing like that- he was going to throw himself into an asthma attack. That shaking couldn’t be good. _He needed to breath._

He eased forward, his hands curling, slow, and controlled around Steve’s arms, the movement only wrenching another breaking sob from the boy. He slid his hands down, watching as they curled into helpless fists, as Steve pressed deeper into him, and the Soldier slowly eased Steve’s down to his knees.

He sank unconsciously, dropping down as the Soldier followed him, kneeling down, and letting out a soft, slow breath as Steve abruptly slumped forward. He curled into his chest, his fingers latching into the front of his shirt as Steve _sobbed-_ and _sobbed-_ and _sobbed_. His cracked lips formed unintelligible words, his tears wetting large, dark spots on the Soldier’s shirt, and he reached forward, rubbing his hand along the crooked, protruding spine.

“Breath….” He murmured, low, and quiet, Steve’s lungs hitching violently before another sob ripped from his throat. “Breath, S-... _Steve_ ....” He knew the name, but it sounded strange slipping his lips, like someone had made sure he hadn’t said it for a very long time. But it sounded right. It sounded _so_ right, and Steve shuddered at the sound, craning into his chest.

And suddenly, he was clinging to him.

His arms came around his cell mate's body, clutching him close as wave after wave of pure- white hot agony washed over him, sobs tearing from his throat until he thought he’d vomit blood. “ _Bucky-_ ” Steve gasped, pressing his face into his neck, his bone thin fingers clutching the back of his shirt. “Bucky- Bucky, n- no- no-” His face snapped up, staring at his through the darkness as his lungs hitched sickly, his eyes and nose streaming, his cheeks scarlet as he reached up. He touched the little scar on his temple- found the tiny dip in his cheek that would dimple when he smiled- _if_ he could smile.

 _God-_ what had happened to him? He had just seen him two days ago- He’d been on his way home to him the night he’d been taken, and Bucky’s was still young, and full of determination, and life. He’d been bright eyed, and laughing, and his touch had been warm, and affectionate when he tugged Steve against his side like he belonged right beside his heart. He’d had a _family_ , and a _future_. How had these monsters turned his warm, beautiful Bucky into this tortured creature?

“Buck-” Steve cracked out, fresh, cold tears spilling from his eyes as he stared at him in horror. “God, Bucky- _what’d they do to you?”_

Suddenly, the cell door flung open.

The Soldier abruptly stood, Steve jerking in alarm as he was spilled from his lap, hitting the floor with a muted gasp. Suddenly, the soft hands on his spine where gone. Suddenly Steve was surrounded by only freezing cold air, and harsh, shattering brightness. His tear-blurred vision was abruptly flooded with dark gray blotches, his throat constricting around a scream as two sets of hard hand dragged him up off the floor, the sounds of footsteps all around him.

“NO!” Steve gasped, horror ripping through him as his vision cleared just enough for him to see Bucky- _his_ Bucky, or the broken pieces left of him- lacing his hands behind his head and letting himself be taken. He walked compliantly as the guards pulled him out, and Steve wrenched against the hands restraining him, panic tearing open his chest. “NO! NO- BUCKY! God- _FIGHT THEM!_ Don’t- DON’T- _NO!”_

_God- why wasn’t he fighting them?_

Bucky- dead eyed, and hollow- walked out of the cell without so much as a hint of resistance. He went with them willingly. He walked straight out the door, all traces of the concern, and gentleness Steve had felt a moment ago, gone. Suddenly, he didn’t even seem aware Steve existed. He was a being of ice, and power, and steel, subject to the every whim of the men handling him. And Steve realized with a lance of horror, that this men could tell him to do anything- kill someone- kill _Steve_...and Bucky would do it without a second thought.

_He wouldn’t even blink. He wouldn’t hesitate._

Because they’d taken his beautiful, clever, gentle Bucky, and turned him into a mindless weapon.

The second set of hands holding his arms relinquished him, leaving Steve restrained by only one soldier, who hauled him out. And Steve’s stunned horror shattered.

 _“BUCKY!”_ Steve screamed, raw anguish flashing into rage as he lurched against his handler. “No! NO, BUCKY! LET HIM GO! LET GO OF HIM- _STOP IT!”_

_Oh god- they were taking him away._

Steve watched in nauseous horror as Bucky was efficiently stripped of the coarse, short sleeved shirt, and drawstring pants, and refitted in tactical pants- kevlar- armor. He was strapped in like a straightjacket, his eyes hollow as he stared straight ahead. At the sound of Steve’s tortured pleas, Bucky didn’t even look his way. His features were blank, and steely, as he was hauled away, and the last thing Steve saw before he was dragged around the corner was an Agent fitting a muzzle over his mouth.

Steve wenched against the grip on his arm, his broken nails raking at the walls as he was dragged down the hallway, his throat stripped from screaming. “Let go of me! _I’ve gotta get to him-_ I-” Steve faltered, realizing who was restraining him. _Agent Rumlow_. Steve wasn’t surprised, but it made the churning nausea and disgust inside him suddenly more potent, his mouth tasting like bile as he lurched against the hold.

“You _KNEW!”_ He screamed violently, his eyes blackening with rage as Rumlow cast him a derisive look, hauling him further away from Bucky. “You _KNEW-_ YOU KNEW IT WAS BUCKY- WHAT’D YOU DO TO HIM?”

The Agent dragged Steve to a stop, hauling open a door in the side of the hallway, and hurling Steve, bodily, inside. He staggered under the force of the throw, hitting his knees with a splintering yelp as Agent Rumlow moved in behind him. He dropped heavily to one knee, one hand grabbing the back of Steve’s neck while he got a hold of the back hem of his shirt, yanking it -in one, efficient jerk- over his head, before tossing it aside.

Steve choked out a gasp of horror, lurching away from him as he felt his hard hands on his body, dragging his arms behind him. _“No-”_ Steve broke out in a strangled cry, his face going white as Agent Rumlow dragged him close, unclipping handcuff from his belt and securing Steve’s hands behind his back, his breath hot on his face.

“Shut up, kid.” He snarled, cinching the cuffs before standing up, and grabbing a fistfull of his hair from behind, yanking his head up so hard Steve’s neck spasmed with pain.

_No- no- no- no-_

Another sinister click met Steve’s ears as he pulled something else off his belt, stepping around Steve’s front, still holding him on his knees by the hair. And then a menacing humm crackled beside his ear and the boy jerked in alarm as Rumlow dragged something up the back of his scalp. He felt a pull- and then a prickle of cold air as his hair fell away.

“No- _DON’T!”_ Steve shrieked, jerking violently only to feel the clippers deeply knick his scalp from the resistance, blood trickling down the back of his neck, but Agent Rumlow just tightened his hold.

“Hold still, Cap- it’ll hurt a lot less.”

Steve squirmed and wrenched against him, helplessness, and nausea churning inside him as his hair was shorn off, and suddenly he felt just as violated as the day before- strapped to the examination table. He had no voice- no say in anything that happened. It was like his body was property- _an item,_ and if they wanted to inject him, and take samples- pump him full of drugs, and shave his hair they would. _He had no power._

_He belonged to them._

Rumlow switched his grip, grabbing Steve’s shoulder hard as he dragged the clipper over the last segment of hair that he’d been using as a handhold up until now. And the second it was gone, Steve was dragged back to his feet.

Rumlow abruptly stripped off Steve’s loose pants and boxer, Steve choking back a fearful gasp as he shoved his bony, naked frame into a stall in the corner of the tiled room. Freezing water sprayed down on Steve, and he flinched with an aborted cry, doubling forward as his body was abruptly soaked, and Steve watched in horror as loose strands of his own soft blond hair washed off where they'd clung to his body, and spiraled down the drain.

Once his body had been rinsed off, Rumlow pulled him, still naked, and shivering, out of the stall, leading him back into the hallway. Steve felt dizzy, and sick, he felt _humiliated_ , and _powerless_ as his bound, dripping figure was lead- completely exposed- past the other Agents frequenting the hallways. _He just wanted something to cover himself._ He just didn’t want to be naked in front of the people who’d kidnapped, hurt, and imprisoned him. _He just wanted to be back with Bucky._

The thought of Bucky brought the horror, and anguish back to the forefront of his mind, and Steve found himself trembling all over as Rumlow took him into the medical bay. As he was strapped to the table, all Steve could think about was what had happened to the boy he loved.

Bucky was so _young_ , and beautiful. He was only a year and a half older than Steve, yet this man- he must have been his senior by nearly _ten_. He was dark, and shattered, and silent. Bucky knew him inside out, like the back of his hand, but this man couldn’t even comprehend that his touch had terrified Steve. He wasn’t his Bucky.

_But he was._

He _was_ Bucky. Steve didn’t know how or why- He didn’t understand anymore than he understood why _he_ was here- or how it was possible. But it was _Bucky_. And these monsters had hurt him.

Steve felt agony wash over him like a wave as a hard, plastic mask came over his mouth, and an I.V. was slipped into his hand. He felt the helplessness, and despair as something tinted the air he breathed, and darkness began to crowd the edges of his vision. He couldn’t even think to fight to stay conscious, even when he saw the doctor bring close a tray of sharp, sterile instruments.

 _Because his life was over_ , and that was bad enough.

But _Bucky’s_ was over too, _and that was so much worse._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve woke, _alone_ , in the cell.

He was laying on the cot, his body heavy, and aching. His head, and stomach throbbed, and Steve let out a low whimper. Shakily, he managed to lift one hand, touching lightly along the sight of the pain in his head. His touch was met by a puckered line of aggravated flesh, stitched together, and sticky with a sterile smelling antibiotic, and Steve’s stomach suddenly turned sour with realization.

They’d.. _.they’d cut into his head…_

Suddenly nausea crashed through him. He wanted to lurch upright, and vomit over the side of the bed, but his whole body felt weighted. He felt numb, and heavy, barely able to curl his toes much less sit up. He was still feeling the effects of the anesthesia, and the more his forced his mind to focus, the more he realized there was nothing in his stomach for him to puke up anyways...A part of him realized he’d die if he didn’t eat, but the thought of what came in on the trays- god knows what it was, only made him was to choke.

After a long moment of reigning back the sour curdling inside him, Steve realized dimly that there was another surgery site too. The right side of his stomach was now marked with a similar line of stitching and puckered, angry flesh, and something in him cracked weakly at the realization that he’d probably never be told _why_ he’d been sliced open- or what had been done to him. He’d never know if something had been implanted, or taken out, or replaced. He no longer had any choice in what was done to his own body, and Steve let his hand slid limply back to the cot.

He couldn’t even muster the energy to cry.

So Steve lay there, in the dark- _alone_ , his eyes glazed as he stared up into the blankness, with nothing but pain in his heart. Since being brought here he’d wanted nothing more than to be left alone- to be away from Agent Rumlow’s cold, glittering eyes, and sharp, cold jabs. He’d wanted nothing more than to sleep without fear of what his cellmate would do to him unawares. And now he _was_ alone...and all he wanted was _Bucky_.

He was lost, and terrified, and heart sick. It made Steve’s soul shred to look at him like this, but... _he wanted him_ ... _here_ in the cot beside him. He wanted to feel the hands that he’d been so terrified would hurt him, rested gently on his waist. He wanted to feel the arms that had restrained him, wrap around him; _warm_ , and _safe_.

He’d wanted to be alone, and safe from a man he’d deeply fear, and he’d been trapped with him for _days_.

Now, Steve only wanted to curl up and sleep in the arms of the man who had once been his best friend... _and they’d taken him away._

But more than anything now, Steve believed Hydra was real- _and he believed they were going to break him._

  
  



	5. Resolution

Steve learned how to count the days, instead of just relying on when he was too tired to keep his eyes open to tell him. Two food trays, and one paper cup full of pills distinguished a day. One medical examination distinguished a day... _ every day _ . Every day they took him, and stripped him, and strapped him down. Every day they did something that made him hurt in some new unfathomable way. 

They’d started giving him injections that coursed like wildfire through his bones. They’d started giving him pills- beyond the ones they knew he needed to survive- that made him see things; frightening, distorted things that loomed and creeped, and grinned with mouths he thought he recognized. They cut him open, or made him breathe in gasses that either put him under, or made his heart race for days until Steve was certain it would give out. 

His body was beginning to change as well. Subtle- but there all the same. His hair, and nails were growing faster now. Daily, they had to cut back the weak, cracked tips of his nails, and every couple days, Agent Rumlow would force him to his knees and drag the clippers back over his scalp. His  _ bones _ hurt too. Steve had thought he knew what that felt like- he’d dealt with scoliosis, and joint pain, and early arthritis his whole life, but this...this was _ so much worse. _ It felt like every bone in his body was being twisted, and stretched, until he thought the balls and cups on the ends would rip off. He felt like something was scraping hard, cruel teeth through his marrow. 

Somedays it was  _ unbearable _ . Some days, Agent Rumlow had to physically carry him out of the cell, limp, and whimpering, into the medical bay. 

There had been twenty eight food trays, and fourteen paper cups of pills. There had been fourteen medical examination. 

Steve had been alone for two week.

And all he wanted was Bucky, even if the only way he could have him was in the form of the twisted shadow these monsters had made him….

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve's eyes snapped closed against the suddenly flood of light that spilled into his cells his aching body tensing on the cot as he waited for rough hands to pull him up and drag him back to the medical bay. He could feel the desperation in his bones- the ache in his agonized, cracked soul.  _ Please no more- please- _

Heavy footfall rang in his ears, Steve squeezing his eyes tighter closed, his throbbing body curling into a defensive knot as he lay there and braced himself. The footfalls stopped. And suddenly, the heavy door closed with a shudder, the light snatched away with it, and before Steve could open his eyes, a solid, heavy weight sunk down on the cot beside him. 

Steve jerked in alarm, eyes flashing wide in the darkness as he sat bolt upright, his tortured body screaming in protest at the abrupt movement. His head snapped around, and suddenly, Steve tasted his first hint of relief in two weeks. 

“ _ Bucky!” _

He was sitting on the edge of the cot, his presence still, and heavy, and before Steve could think- he was  _ clinging _ to him. He crashed into him without a single, cautionary thought, his frail, weak arms around his neck. His body ached for the closeness, and the comfort, and Steve found himself in his lap without so much as a trace of embarrassment.  _ He didn’t care. _ He didn’t care that he was clinging to him like a child- that his arms, and his legs were latched around his torso. He didn’t care that broken, babbling words of relief had begun spilling uncontrollably from his lips- muffled into the side of his neck. He didn’t care. He wasn’t alone anymore. 

_ They’d brought him back… _

_ They’d brought his Bucky back...  _

“Buck-” Steve choked, gasping his name like a prayer, as his frozen fingers curled into the hair at the back of his neck, ground himself as he pressed into the crook of his neck. “ _ God- _ Bucky- Bucky _ …I’m sorry- _ ” He choked helplessly, nuzzling into his neck as the Soldier’s chest slowly expanded in a deep, ragged breath. Steve could feel the shock that his abrupt display of affection had caused. He was stiff against him, his muscles coiled with tension, but Steve just carded his fingers through the over long hair, shivering against him as agony, and desperate relief spilled from him with bittersweet toxicity.

Slowly, the Soldier’s heavy arms twitched, lifting cautiously as the willowy boy clung to him so desperately. He touched- feather light at first, and then more fully against his lower back, both hands softly framing the deeply curved base of his scoliotic spine. Steve shivered at the touch, craning desperately closer. 

_ “What happened?”  _ He whispered brokenly, clinging to Bucky as he pressed so close he felt he would sink into his chest. “What’d they do to you? Wh- what happened?” Steve managed, his throat closing as he finally, fully accepted that that night, in Steve's past life...Bucky had waited up for him only for his best friend to never come home again. His Bucky had been forced to continue on with his life knowing Steve was missing, and then ultimately believing him  _ dead _ ...And then something between then and now had happened to drag him into the captivity of these twisted monsters...something had happened to keep him alive even through the decades. Alive...but  _ so very different. _ So different- so stripped, and broken, that he barely seemed to recognize his best friend who he had long since believed dead… _.It wasn't fair- _ it was so sick, and twisted, and unfair, and there was so much both of them didn't know...it wasn’t fair.  _ But still...they were together. _

The Soldier blinked heavily, his body numb from fatigue, yet aching all the same. His mind felt more distant, and clouded, and chaotic even than usual...like lighting inside thunderclouds. His muscles were still thrumming from the violence… He could  _ taste _ the iron bite of a stranger's blood in his mouth. It was dried on his hands. On his shirt. On his boots. There had been blood  _ everywhere _ ...blood flecking the man’s lips as the Soldier held him up by the collar of his shirt as his lungs convulsed in a death cough. Blood dripping onto the pristine white carpet from the cruel blade buried in his body. 

_ Blood on thin, bony knuckles, and smeared off of a viciously curled mouth- _

The Soldier blinked again, sharper this time, the image not fitting with the others. His target had been a solid, middle aged man, graced with the comfort of fat.  _ The knuckles were clenched under the skin of a thin, willowy hand with delicate wrists.  _ The target’s mouth had been drawn back in a scream of feral terror. The other memory...even in a defensive snarl, the mouth had been so beautifully formed... _ so pink...and tender… _

“You...were always fighting…” The Soldier said, his voice low, and quiet, the boy in his lap drawing in a short breath of surprise, and going still. He still clung to him, but those weak, rattling lungs had momentarily frozen, and the Soldier cautiously shifted his touch on his back. He wet his lips with a rough touch of his tongue, chasing the flash of a memory despite the weariness in his exhausted soul. “ _ You had blood on your mouth…”  _ He murmured, his brow drawing as one hand slid up his spine, feeling the ridges under his thin shirt, and thinner skin. “There were...there were holes in your shoe, and...a boy was mocking you for them….He said....” The Soldier faltered, not sure why he remembered this, or why it was important, but the frail thing in his arms was hanging on his every word. “He said your Ma wouldn’t let you wear shoes like that, if-” Suddenly, the rest of the boys cruel jeer filled in in his mind, and the Soldier trailed off, something inside him twisting. 

_ A woman was dead. _

His mother-  _ Steve’s _ mother was dead...no wonder he’d gone after the other boy with raised fists, and violence in his beautiful blue eyes…

Steve’s arms tightened around his neck. 

“Buck?...” Steve whispered, his voice small, and rough, and the Soldier eased his arms a little snugger around him. Steve swallowed, his lashed suddenly spiked with moisture as he pressed into his neck, his heart wrent with grief. “Why….” he swallowed hard, his face pressing deeper, because he almost couldn’t bear the question he was going to ask. 

_ “Why...are you saying that like you don’t know?”  _

The question rang, hollow, and pleading in the cruel little cell, both figures going still, gathered in each other’s arms.  

The Soldier held completely still, his eyes fixed, his throat closing around any answer as Steve waited- silent, and aching. He could feel the yearning in his body. Feel him craning, and clawing for an answer that only the Soldier could give him. And he knew... _ he knew. _ ..but he didn’t want the knowledge to hurt Steve the way it hurt him every day, every _moment_...drifting aimlessly in a violent storm of fragmented feeling, and lost memory…But Steve had asked him…

“I…”He started haltingly, feeling Steve tensing by the second. Feeling him bracing for what the Soldier would say. “I’m... _ not supposed to remember.”  _ He breathed, his eyes fluttering closed as images of his handlers violence flashed through his mind. “If I remember...they make me forget...they.. _.can’t  _ know I remember you, they’ll-. _..they’ll take you away…”  _

Steve’s stomach twisted so badly it hurt, a sudden sound between a choke, and a sob catching in his throat.  “You-” He choked, his head suddenly lifting, his eyes flashing to scour his face in the darkness.  _ “You don’t remember…”  _ Steve whispered helplessly, staring into the shattered face, his eyes wide. “Wh- How much? Y- y _ ou know who you are, right? _ You know who _ I  _ am-”

Tension flashed across the Soldier’s face, Steve’s desperate questions sending his already fragments mind scattering a thousand different directions at once. How much  _ did _ he remember?  _ Did _ he know who he was? The Soldier remembered in disconnected flashes, sometimes gone as quickly as they’d come. He remember irrelevant things.  _ Moments _ . Fractions of seconds from a life before he could remember. Sometimes they stuck. Sometimes they faded. And some memories. _..like Steve.. _ .came back to him no matter how many times his handlers raked them out of his mind. 

“I remembered your name…” He breathed, his tortured eyes lifting slowly, and for the first time since being locked back in the cell, he met Steve’s bright, wet blue eyes. His tongue slid out, wetting his cracked lips, still staring up at Steve as he waited expectantly. There was more...but  _ so little...so unclear. _ A flash of a smile on a day by the water. The sound of a sob that rent his soul. Steve slumped in his lap in a dark, ill-fitting suit as he cried for the last family he had had left… But the Soldier forced the thought back, remembering Steve’s rage and horror the first time he’d brought up that memory. He’d snapped, and lashed out. He’d called him disgusting...The Soldier didn’t want to upset him again, so he bit back the words, his eyes abruptly dropping away. 

But a heavy second later, the hollow shell of what was left of Bucky Barnes felt a tentative touch along the underside of his jaw, guiding his reluctant eyes back up.

Steve was staring at him, wide eyes, heartsick, his mouth soft with hurt and pity even as his emotions were shredded with grief. “Is...is that _it?”_ He whispered softly, his opposite hand coming up to cradle Bucky’s solid jaw in his frail hands. “That...that’s all you remember? Th- There’s  _ nothing _ else?”

The Soldier couldn’t hold the intense, anguished stare a second longer. He dropped his eyes away, anything that was there, too foggy, and too distant, or painful for him to commit to words.  _ “It always comes back… _ ” He breathed, the space between them growing narrower, and narrower, Steve’s shaky breath on his lips. “When I...stop functioning the way I should...they wipe me...but...your name always came back...sometimes...I could even remember what you looked like....”

Sometimes, the image of the blond haired boy was all that had kept him alive. Some missions, hiding for days in the dark- in the cold- it would be so easy to succumb, but there was that one thought...that one, dim memory, of someone who, just maybe.. _.had cared for him.  _ It kept him alive. Or it kept some part of his  _ soul _ alive...

And now, this vision that had kept him from becoming an endless vacuum of mindless cruelty was right in front of him. Impossibly soft flesh, and warm, racing blood. His legs straddled the Soldier’s, his slender arms wrapped around his neck like a lifeline. He was staring at him, with fractured eyes, and an expression laced with a soul-rending hurt. He was utterly still...and so... _ so _ quiet.

Steve couldn’t make his lips form words. With every possible combination of sound and meaning, he couldn’t conjure a single thing that could truly express the feelings that suddenly torn his fragile heart to shreds. It was  _ black _ . It was  _ poisonous _ , and disorienting. It was acute agony not in his body but in his  _ thoughts _ , and his emotions- in his very  _ soul _ . And it left him speechless.    
How could this have happened? How could anyone had taken someone like Bucky...someone so warm, and genuine, and caring...someone who had taken one look at a sick little half-blind kid, and decided he not only wasn’t a waste of space, but that he was worth time, and attention, and friendship, and love. When so many people saw Steve as purely his disabilities- as a burden to society, Bucky saw him as a  _ person _ , because to Bucky...his worth wasn’t in his body, or his health...Bucky saw  _ everyone _ like that. He was good, and intelligent, and compassionate...and they had taken him, and turned him cold, and frightening, and empty. 

They’d.. _.they’d made him forget._..they’d made him forget who he was- forget  _ everything _ that made him human, and they used him, and hurt him, and god knows what else. They took everything from him...but somehow, a part of him _still_ remembered Steve.

It was a tiny, bitter blessing among the hurt, and chaos, and sick, black torment. It was a weak little sliver of light in his dark, twisted world...but they couldn’t even let him have that. 

They’d given Bucky his light as a gift- _ a treat-  _ knowing full well Steve would despise, and fear him. They must have know Steve would fight his touch, and flinch away from him. They’d given what was left of Bucky his light, but first, they’d broken him, turned him weak, and feral, and terrified. They’d shaved off the soft, golden hair from his memory, and left him only with fractured blue eyes that could no long soften as he smiled, and heart that could no longer trust. They’d given him his light...but only after they’d crushed it out.

Slowly, Steve eased in, his eyes falling heavily closed as his forehead touched the Soldier's. He let out a low, achingly pained breath, his brow twisting with conflicted misery as his dry, cracked lips parted helplessly. 

_“I love you._..I want you to know that…” He rasped, the secret he’d thought he would carry to his grave slipping out, quite, defeated, and almost irrelevant. His lashes feathered Bucky’s ashen cheeks as he lifted his gaze slowly, his eyes glassy. “I didn’t tell you that...Not for real, I know I said it, but- I guess...I just want you to know that I meant it…” He murmured softly, wishing he’d been allowed to confess his love for him in any other way. But this was the end of Steve’s life. He could feel his body weakening under the daily experimentation, and even if he didn’t die, they would make him like Bucky. _..a shell.. _ .He wouldn’t be himself anymore...and he wanted to tell Bucky that Steve had been in love with him his entire life, before there wasn’t a Steve left to tell him…

“When this is all over…” Steve managed, swallowing hard as the inevitability of his death or dehumanization suddenly loomed into the forefront of his mind. “...I still want you to remember that, if they let you...Just...that  _ I love you.”  _

_ There _ . It was out. Bucky knew, and it was nothing like the way Steve had ever thought it would be...but somehow, a peace still came with it.  _ He knew _ … No matter what these monsters did to him now...Bucky  _ knew _ that Steve loved him, and they couldn’t take that away. And Steve felt a weight he’d carried for most of his life lift from his chest, and finally, Steve felt the surge of courage he needed to lift his gaze, and look Bucky in the eyes. 

The Soldier...Bucky... _ Steve’s _ Bucky, he reminded himself, stared up at the single spot of brightness in his life, and something crumbled under the weight of his words.  _ Steve loved him. _ ..He didn’t even know who he was- But this beautiful thing...this warm, passionate, stunning creature loved him.  _ And he was beautiful.  _

Steve sat in his lap, with cheeks chapped from tears, and lips cracked, and split. He looked at him with red rimmed eyes laced with woven lines of broken blood vessels through his scalars. The soft blond hair he remembered was gone, Steve’s head shaved down to tight, uneven patches, with ugly, blackish scabs from the bite of careless clippers. His was frighteningly thin, and pale, and weary...and he was  _ beautiful _ ...and  _ he loved him… _

Bucky blinked, once, slowly, his eyes meeting Steve’s, the shattered pieces left of their souls suddenly fitting together into a mosaic of breathtaking beauty. Hurt, and love, and longing came together in a work of art, woven with darkness, and desperation, and spiraling on into infinity. 

And suddenly, all that was left of Bucky Barnes leaned forward and tenderly kissed all that was left of Steve Rogers. 

Steve’s breath hitched in his chest, his eyes flashing as Bucky’s chin tipped forward, his mouth- so rough, and chapped, but so sweetly familiar in shape, and warmth- touching it. It was so  _ soft- _ so  _ halting- _ and  _ scared _ , and Steve could feel the tension in Bucky’s body as he waited to be struck away. 

Abruptly, Steve’s mind caught up to his stunned body, and he let out a raw, desperate sound, his hands coming up to clutch shakily at Bucky’s jaw. He leaned in, his eyes squeezing closed, his breath suddering out of him as Bucky’s right arm drew their bodies closer. He craned in, a shudder running up his spine as the tension bled out of Bucky’s body, as he registered Steve’s response. 

He wasn’t shoving him away anymore. He wasn’t screaming at him, or hitting him, he was...he was  _ kissing _ him...He was holding his face in gentle hands, and  _ kissing _ him, and suddenly Bucky felt his throat closing. 

He couldn’t remember feeling anything like this ever before.. _.the softness...the warmth,  _ the...the  _ love _ ...he couldn’t remember ever feeling love before, and it made his chest tighten so deeply he thought his ribs would be crushed. His right hand slid up, gently- tenderly cradling the back of Steve’s head, holding him close as he felt the short, patchy fuzz of his hair so close to his paper thin skin. His left hand eased carefully down his back. He stopped at the dip near the base of his spine, drawing Steve close, unconsciously, and selfishly needing him nearer...needing more of his body pressed against his own...needing more of the sensation of his breath wheezing against his chest. 

They kissed, long, and slow, and desperate, and after a long moment, Steve eased their mouth apart, tenderly breaking this kiss... _ his first kiss _ , but more importantly, his first kiss with  _ Bucky… _

“Buck…” He whispered, his eyes lightly closed, his lungs rattling as he tried to keep up with the breath that Bucky had just snatched from his lungs. His grip shifted on his face, holding him desperately, leaning in as Bucky’s hand guided him closer. “Bucky...god…” He panted, his head spinning, and suddenly Bucky leaned in, catching his mouth once more, drawing him in, and Steve met his desperate, hungry mouth with a muffled gasp of raw relief.

The Soldier held him close. He cradled Steve’s head in one strong hand, his mouth working deep, and soft over Steve’s as he did something he’d never done before in his living memory.  _ Done something of his own volition. _ Because he  _ wanted _ to, rather than because he was ordered to. 

He kissed Steve because  _ he _ wanted to. 

And because  _ Steve _ wanted to kiss him back.

Steve shivered, pressing closer, shifting forward until their bodies were flush together, Bucky arching closer underneath him. His mouth was warm, and damp, and his body remembered a skill Steve had never learned; _ how to make a kiss feel good.  _ Bucky shifted his lips just right, parting them at the perfect time, and tenderly nibbling at Steve’s lower lip at the perfect moment to make him let out a soft, helpless sigh of pleasure. And when the tip of Bucky’s tongue traced his lower lip, Steve parted them in silent, desperate permission. 

As he licked gently into Steve’s mouth, as he heard him make little, breathless moans, and felt him shiver as his tongue tactlessly bumped his. And the Soldier... _ Bucky _ , felt something like comfort. 

_ This was good.  _

_ This was right. _

Steve in his lap. Kissing him.  _ Loving him _ ...It was  _ right _ , and  _ perfect _ , and the first, and  _ only _ good thing he had ever been given.

Finally, Bucky felt a slight ease in the violent, gnawing pit in his soul, and he tipped his chin down, his damp, parted lips ghosting over the corner of Steve’s mouth, brushing softly over his cheek. Steve let out a breathy sigh, his eyes trustingly closed as Bucky’s mouth trailed to his temple, kissing there once, softly, before coming to rest beside his ear. He tucked his chin into the crook of Steve’s boney shoulder, and slender neck, pressing in, holding Steve close to him by the back of his head, and the base of his spine. He craned into him, soaking in his presence...his tenderness.. _.his love._ He drank him in- everything that made him _Steve_ , and as he did, a trace of what made _him_ _Bucky_ seeped back up through the cracks in the barrier of decades of abuse. 

“ _ Stevie… _ ” He murmured, his mouth brushing his neck, and Steve’s arms tightened around him, the boy’s nose scrunching against the side of his jaw as he clung to him. “Steve...I...I wasn’t sure you were real…” He confessed breathlessly, Steve giving a choked, hollow little laugh against his skin, and Bucky nuzzled closer. “I...thought maybe I’d imagined you... _ made you up,  _ but... _ you’re here…” _

“Yeah-” Steve managed in a choked tone, his eyes squeezed closed, his lungs barely able to draw breath for how close they were pressed. “I’m here.. _.I’m here, Buck… I love you... _ I love you so much...I- _ I love you…” _

Bucky kissed his neck, hungry, and desperate, his mouth working up to his ear. Because suddenly, the Soldier found himself allowed to receive physical contact without malice. He suddenly found he was allowed to  _ give _ it, and some tiny part of him remembered.. _.remembered wanting this. _

He had  _ wanted _ this. He was sure of it. Something in Bucky’s soul resonated with the thought, as it settled, neat, and clean, and  _ right _ , inside of him.  _ He’d wanted this.  _ To kiss Steve. The hear that he loved him. A part of the Soldier thought that he remembered loving him to...remembered caring about him, and soothing him when he was upset. He remembered the warmth that the thought of Steve would bring. And the surge of protectiveness for him - _ once forgotten-  _ suddenly bloomed back up in his chest, filling every cavity in his body. 

“I want-” He faltered, his expression tightening against Steve’s neck. “I want...to take care of you.. _.protect you _ …” Steve shivered, feeling the tiny brush of Bucky’s tongue against his neck as he unconsciously wet his lips. “But... _ they’ll take you away if they know…” _

Steve stomach twisted strangely inside him, duel parts love, and hurt. Because Bucky wanted to look after him... _ He wanted to protect him. _ But Steve knew as well as Bucky that that couldn’t happen. He remembered when they’d last taken Bucky away, How he hadn’t even looked at Steve. How he’d stood up out from under him and let him hit the hard, cold floor without a single, visible trace of remorse...Because if Hydra knew Bucky remembered him, they would take him away. So Bucky  _ couldn’t _ . He’d have to stand there, cold, and dead eyed as they dragged Steve out for the experiments day after day. He would have to watch without so much as a flicker of response as Steve protested and begged...and if they wanted to stay together, that was just how it had to be.

A brittle, hollow laugh slipped Steve’s rattling lungs, his arms tightening, as he let out a breath, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.  _ “It’s okay...”  _ He breathed, lifting his head slightly and cracking a dismal smile. “It’s okay Buck... _ I understand, _ and...it’s gonna be fine.. _.okay?” _ He whispered, touching his hair softly until Bucky haltingly lifted his eyes. “It’s gonna be fine.” He pressed earnestly. “I’m...not gonna last... I’m uh...I’m dying, Buck, so.. _.it’s okay _ ...you don’t have to be worried about protecting me.” 

Bucky’s shattered eyes flooded with horror, his drawn, gaunt face going slack with alarm as he stared up at the boy kneeling over his lap. “Steve... _ no- _ ” He protested softly, Steve shaking his head sharply as he tried to continue. 

“No-” He cut over him, his brow knotting. “No, Buck.  _ It’s better, _ alright? I...I can rest, and...they don’t get to make me into some kind of super weapon...They don’t get the chance to use me to hurt people. Alright?” He finished, his voice softening, as his eyes turned gentle, and desperate. “Buck...I’m  _ tired _ .” For the first time, Steve’s voice cracked. “I- I’m  _ exhausted _ , and...everything hurts...I don’t...Bucky _ I don’t think I can survive this for much longer, _ and if the only good thing that comes out of it is that I don’t get used to hurt someone else, then dying’s looking pretty damn good right now!”

Before Steve could draw another breath, Bucky surged forward and pulled him into another kiss, his hands clamped on both sides of his jaw, his nose scrunched against his cheeks as he kissed him so desperately in made Steve’s head spin.

He choked off a gasp of surprise, his hands jerking for a moment before falling to the sides of his neck. The kiss was all pressure, and no finesse. It was nothing like the slow, deep, passionate kisses they’d exchanged minutes before. It was  _ raw _ , and  _ ragged _ , like an open wound, or a death gasp. It was inflamed, and it was short. 

Bucky broke this brief, ragged kiss, his forehead crushed against Steve’s as he clung to his face. “ _ Stop- _ ” He pleaded brokenly- selfishly. “Please...I...I just got you back...y...you  _ can’t _ die…”

Steve’s weak, rattling lungs filled with a gasp of freezing cold air, mingled with Bucky’s distinct scent, and suddenly his heart twisted inside him, bitter grief, and regret crashing over him in an icy wave. “Buck-” He rasped, pressing closer, his chest constricting, his weak hands gripping the side of his neck. “I- I’m sorry, that was...that was selfish, I know...I’m sorry.. _.I’m sorry Buck, _ I didn’t…” Steve swallowed hard, his heart suddenly twisted with conflict. Because he  _ had _ meant it. At least a part of it. Steve didn't  _ want _ to die, but he wanted to be a human weapon even  _ less _ . He didn’t want to be used to hurt, and kill people...But Bucky had already lost him once. He’d already believed him dead when Steve had just failed to come home one night never to be seen again. He’d already had to grieve over him once,  _ how could Steve make him do that again?  _ Besides...even if Steve’s weakened body allowed him the bitter mercy of death, that would still leave Bucky... _ trapped _ with this monsters, without support, or even the frail comfort Steve could offer him. 

He’d have to face this nightmare  _ alone _ ... _ and Steve couldn’t let that happen.  _

Closing his eyes, Steve let out a ragged breath, and let go of the thin, morbid thread of hope he’d been clinging to. He let go of his twisted little comfort  _ ‘at least I’ll die soon.’ ‘at least it’ll stop hurting soon.’ _ And Steve embraced an even more bitter resolution, because as morbid as the first one was, it had not only been probable, but almost  _ inevitable _ . This new hope...it wasn’t even  _ possible _ , but it was the one scenario in which Steve and Bucky could stay together. 

“What about this?” Steve managed, his voice shaking, throat tight as he lied to himself to believe this could work. “Instead of doing what they want, and...being what they make us. _..Instead of dying,_ what if... _ What if we got out?”  _ Steve’s eyes flickered up to Bucky, hollow, and laced with aching hurt despite the fragile little smile on his lips. 

“What if you and me got out of here  _ together _ ...I don’t know anything about this century, but...I know  _ everything _ about you. You don't know much at all about either of us, but...you know this new world better than I will for a long time.. _.We could make it together _ …” He offered thinly, knowing deep in his soul that it could never work. “We could take care of each other- live on the run...and when they give up looking for us...we could even settle down…”

Steve was just talking now to sooth the ache in his soul. The story he was weaving made him want to cry, but it was nice to live in it for a moment all the same...to let it be a real possibility in his mind. Slowly, Steve eased forward, nestling his cheek against Bucky’s collar as his best friend’s arms tightened reassuringly around his abused body. He blinked sleepily, his muscles weary, tongue heavy, but he continued murmuring the story anyways. 

“We could find somewhere quiet...some little town that no one’s ever heard of, and get a little apartment...just like before, two’uv us in one bed if we needed to...We could live together, Buck.” He whispered, his voice cracking as his fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “I could help you remember everything, and you could teach me all about the new technology...we could be  _ happy _ ... _ no one would hurt us anymore… _ ”

As gentle tears began to trickle down Steve’s raw cheeks, Bucky reached up, gentle caressing over his patchy scalp, his body responding through the muscle memory of carding his fingers through his hair. He stroked his head comfortingly, the bizarre metal arm that Steve couldn’t understand, snugging tighter around his waist.

And as his mumbled words trailed off, Steve let himself go limp, and relaxed, as the bittersweet daydream danced around the corners of his mind. He let his eyes closed, and let his lungs deflate in a low sigh. And he let himself believe it.

He was trapped in this hellhole, but he still had Bucky...They were going to escape together, and they were going to  _ run _ , and  _ run _ , and  _ run _ , as fast, and as far as their legs could carry them. And they’d spend a few, bitter years ducking, and hiding, and flinching at shadows...but then the search would stop, and they could make a new life for themselves here. They could make a life in this strange and violent new century...with a  _ home _ , and low profile jobs...with a pantry full of good food, and no more trays of tasteless rations. They could sleep in peace- under thick, warm blankets, rather than craning into each other for warmth on a single, stiff cot.

_ They...they could have each other… _

They could still be happy.. _.even after all this... _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your thoughts and comments are deeply, deeply appreciated! I can't wait to hear what you all think. See you next Monday!


	6. One Last Good Thing

He wanted to say it made it easier- having Bucky there...but it didn’t… Nothing made the examinations and injections less painful. Nothing kept out the nightmares that tortured his sleep. And seeing Bucky every day- seeing him like this... _it hurt in a way Steve had never hurt before._

But still...Steve’s aching soul shuddered with relief every time Bucky touched him; every time he tucked him deep in his arms, or stroked his flesh and blood hand over his sore scalp. His heart warmed just a little bit every time Bucky would haltingly share a few whispered words with him. So maybe it wasn’t _easier_ ...but it was just a little bit _better_.

Conversation was difficult for Bucky.

His mind was mostly a ragged, blank expanse of hostile emptiness, and memories of their shared history was met mostly with unsettled discomfort. Every time Steve tried to prompt him with stories from their lost life together, Bucky would just stare at him with hollow, shattered eyes, that almost pleaded for him to stop. He didn’t remember...he didn’t understand, and the confusion Steve’s words caused him ripped into his abused heart like claws. So for the most part, the comfort they indulged in was tactile.

Anytime they were together they were always in contact. They were always curled up in each other’s arms, or sitting shoulder to shoulder as they solemnly shared the rations that came in on the food tray. Steve was always snuggled against his side, or curled up in his lap. In the dark, freezing silence of the night, they exchanged soft, tender kisses, while Steve continued to weave the story of the life they’d never actually find. As Bucky’s hands wandered his back, and arms, and his lips traced his cheeks, Steve whispered to him about the home they would make together. And as Bucky’s lips would find his, Steve’s breath would hitch in a tight, mournful sob, his words faltering off as his reality came crashing back over him. He’d kiss Bucky, deep, and wet, and desperate. He’d cling to him. Because letting go wasn’t an option. Dying wasn’t an option, which meant Bucky was all he had. _And he was all he was ever going to have._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“If I asked you for something small...would you get it for me?”

The question was low, and soft, but still spoke with a note of hostility as Agent Rumlow unstrapped Steve from the examination table, handing him the standard set of loose clothing that he was given after each exam. The man’s dark eyes flickered over the frail, aggressive slip of a thing as he dressed, those viciously blue eyes boring through him. And absently, Rumlow shrugged. “Depends on what you want.” He replied, waiting until Steve was dressed before turning him around, cuffing his bone-thin wrists behind his back...not like he needed it. Steve barely had the strength to stand anymore. “If ‘ _something small’_ means smuggling you an extra protein bar, I could probably swing it, but if ‘something small’ means a _key_ , or a _cyanide pill,_ I’m gonna have to say no.”

Steve’s jaw flexed. Were it not for Bucky, there would be nothing he wouldn’t have given for a cyanide pill. A quick, relatively painless death in the midst of all this drawn out torture, and misery. But now...now that wasn’t even an option to consider. Now he just had to try to survive, so that Bucky wouldn't have to go back to facing this nightmare alone. _It was all for his sake._ Except for this one thing. There was still one thing Steve wanted for himself. It wasn’t much...just an experience...Just something that he wanted before the end of his life.

“ _Vaseline_.” Steve said tightly, his eyes lowered, not wanting to see the shift in Rumlow’s expression. “Just a little bit of vaseline…”

For a second, Rumlow was still, and then his mouth cracked into a grin, his hand curling around Steve’s forearm, tugging him close as they started moving. “Been thinking about what I said, Cap?” He asked, Steve’s thin, pale skin crawling as he felt his breath on his neck. “You found someone nice to pop your cherry?” Steve didn’t respond, his teeth grinding together, his hostile eyes straight ahead as he tried to ignore the grin hovering at the corner of his vision.

But Rumlow wasn’t so easily dissuaded. The Captain was fun like this...small, aggressive, and scared...Rumlow liked to see if he could scare him a little more.

“Honestly...I’m surprised you decided on the Soldier…” He murmured as he put the pieces together. “Now don’t get me wrong...he’s a good lay. He might even treat you nice, but I’ve seen what that man’s trained for....I’ve seen what he can do with that body…” He said lowly, watching with a sick curl of pleasure as Steve’s steps faltered. He stopped just behind him, leaning close, his lips suddenly brushing right over the shell of the young man’s ear.

“You know he’s been trained to break info out of captives like that?...”  Rumlow asked, his tone perversely conversational- like talking about Steve’s best friend being forced to hurt people like that didn’t at all bother him. “I’m guessing you don’t want the bloody details, but...it was never pretty… When those orders are engaged. _..he’s an animal, Stevie.._ .Now I’m not saying that’s how this is gonna go down, but...his conditioning’s pretty strict...it might get triggered,” He added with an easy shrug, feeling Steve shudder against him, his twisted heart feeding off of the fear, and strife, and Rumlow leaned closer, his breath hot on his ear. “If that happens…I’ve just gotta ask, Cap...” Rumlow whispered, _“How much do you think you’re gonna be able to take?_

Steve’s stomach swooped nauseously. Suddenly, Steve couldn’t halt the horrible, poisonous coil of doubt that started crawling through his heart, reaching long, slicked fingers through his every vein. _He hated himself for it._ Hated himself for even letting himself _think_ of being afraid of Bucky, but it was still there. Steve didn’t want it to hurt… _He just wanted his first time to be his choice...that was all._ He just wanted the luxury of _deciding_ to give himself to someone- _to Bucky_ , before he was no longer himself at all. Before he was completely subject to the whims of anyone with authority over him….Was that so much to ask? Was it so hard to leave that one little thing alone without poisoning it with fear?

Dimly, Steve registered that Rumlow was pressing in, reaching past his shoulder and clicked open a cabinet mounted on the wall, fussing through it until his weathered fingers plucked a little bottle from the case. He eased it down, tucking the little bottle into Steve’s right hand and curling his frail fingers around it. “This’ll be better than vaseline.” He murmured in Steve’s ear. “Modern equivalent, baby...make it slide a little easier while he’s pounding you into the concrete.”

A sick shudder ran up the length of Steve’s crooked spine, his eyes squeezing closed as he arched away from him. “Shut up-” He croaked roughly, not wanting to think about that- about Bucky...hurting him...about this one little thing he had left to give turning painful, and frightening. He didn’t want to even _imagine_ , but Rumlow knew how to make him afraid...and Steve had given him the best ammunition himself. But worse still was the deep, violent sickness Steve felt in his soul at the thought of what these people had done to Bucky to make him blindly obey even such twisted, and horrific orders. Bucky probably didn’t even _remember_ ...They’d probably made him forget, until all that was left was a putrid trace lingering on his mind, and a thread of conditioning that could all too easily be tweaked. He may not remember at all...But it made Steve want to vomit to think of Bucky being forced to do something so totally, and completely opposite of everything in him...but it was even more terrifying to think that that response could be triggered again...and triggered towards _him_.

“You’re just trying to scare me.” Steve gritted out, unable to keep all traces of a tremor out of his voice. He hated it. He _hated_ that he was letting Rumlow get to him...But Steve couldn’t help what he was afraid of. All he could do was face up to the fact that he’d given Rumlow that fear to use against him. “You’re only saying that because of what I told you.”

At the retort, Rumlow raised his eyebrows. “ _Maybe_...Or maybe it’s the truth, and I’m just trying to give you a heads up…” Rumlow returned, Steve shuddering under his hold. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, Rumlow took him down the length of the hallway, removed the cuffs, and pitched him back into the cell.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky was standing, eyes forward, hands laced behind his cell when Steve was thrown in. He didn’t move and didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch when Steve hit the hard concrete and lay there like a broken marionette. He stood completely still, and waited for orders.

Until the door shuddered closed.

And then suddenly, Steve’s broken body shuddered with relief as Bucky sunk down next to his crumpled frame. He took him with gentle hands, sliding Steve carefully closer- drawing him into his lap his hands petting softly over his head, stroking his back as Steve curled in on himself on Bucky lap.

Nothing in him wanted to be afraid of Bucky anymore. Nothing in him wanted this to hurt...but he was afraid all the same. Bucky was different now... _so different._ He was distant, and lost, and he had forgotten so much of what it meant to be human, and as desperately as Steve wanted to believe he would never hurt him...he was still afraid.

“ _You're tense…”_

The words were murmured low over Steve’s ear, Bucky’s broad, solid body bent over him, his hands still tenderly stroking his shaved head and quivering shoulders. Steve let out a rough little sigh, pressing his face into his lap; otherwise silent. His stomach twisted, doubt flushing through him as Bucky's metal fingers ghosted over the collar of his shirt… He'd been so sure he’d wanted this...so sure he’d wanted to have the luxury of consent for his first time, and that he'd wanted to give it to Bucky.. _.but now…_ Now, Rumlow had gotten his claws hooked into his heart. He'd filled his head with images and fears, and Steve felt sick at the thought of triggering Bucky’s conditioning. Suddenly, he was all too aware of his stick-thin body- all too aware of the bottle clutched in his bony hands- the one Bucky would notice before long, and Steve’s heart lurched in his chest, his mind skittering away with panic. _Hide it. Get rid of it. You...you don't want this anymore._

“You're shaking….”

_“M’sorry…”_

Steve lay there stiffly, eyes fixed in the darkness, lungs frozen. He listened to Bucky's breathing- felt his hands-still- on his body... _so gentle…_.and suddenly, a strange warmth spread through Steve's chest, his lungs shuddering out in a soft sigh, his eyes falling closed. Rumlow wasn't going to take his choice before he even had a chance to make it. He wasn't going to make Steve afraid of Bucky again. He wasn't going to influence him into freezing out the only good thing Steve had anymore. And Steve wanted this.

_He wanted to give himself to Bucky._

Slowly, Steve eased up, maneuvering himself into Bucky's lap, the older man drawing in a low breath of surprise as Steve responded to the touch for the first time since being thrown back in with him. The boy shifted in, his legs spread as he knelt over Bucky's thighs, hands falteringly touching his chest- eyes wide, yet lowered. He was still shaking. _“Buck?”_ Steve whispered softly, a little shiver running up his spine as the reality of his decision really, truly sunk in. “If you wanted to...would you do something with me?...” He asked, his voice thin, and frail. _A dying boy’s plea,_ and because he couldn’t bear the silence, Steve pressed on haltingly, knowing if he didn’t he’d never get it out. He’d lose his nerve. He’d succumb to fear, and Hydra would have taken even this from him.

“I…” He faltered, not really wanting it like _this-_ this _strange-_ this _fast_ and fearful...but Steve didn’t feel like he could afford to wait for it to happen naturally. Things were changing with the experiments. They were gearing up, and gearing up for something _big_. If that happened, Steve didn't want to know what he’d be like on the other side of it. Also...whether he promised Bucky or not, Steve could feel himself dying. One way or another, he was running out of time. “I...I know this is weird…” He whispered shakily, his mouth dry, eyes stinging as he tried to choke the words out. “I know we just got each other back a-and I just told you I loved you-I didn't- I didn't wanna do it this way, but-”

Bucky arms drew tight and comforting around him, the pressure cutting Steve’s flow of words off in a ragged, choked hitch of breath. Bucky drew him closer, pressing deeper into the side of Steve's neck. He nuzzled close, his flesh and blood arm coming up to cradle his delicate skull in one strong hand, a low hushing sound rumbling up from deep inside Bucky's chest. _“Shhh….”_ He soothed quietly, holding the frail, shivering figure in his arms. “Just ask…”

Steve swallowed hard, nuzzling desperately into Bucky's neck, his arms drawing even tighter until there was no space left between their bodies. Until the only thing separating them was two, thin layers of fabric. _“Will you make love to me, Buck?”_ Steve whispered, trembling all over, his cheeks burning, stomach tight with desperation and a poisonous curl of uncertainty and fear. “I know this isn't how it's usually supposed to happen- I know it’s supposed to happen on it’s own- but, Buck- I..I’m _scared_ .” He admitted, the words stripping from his throat like a knife over rust. “I’m scared, a- and I’m running out of time, and I...I want you to take me…please, Bucky...I...I wanna be yours…please take me... _please Bucky...”_

And at the desperate, shaken plea, Bucky froze.

At first he wasn't sure he’d heard him right because the Steve from his distant, foggy memories was physically affectionate; he touched, and loved easily. But the Steve of his _present_ was broken, and head shy. He flinched and shuddered at unexpected touch. He lurched awake from nightmares, shoving Bucky away with hoarse screams of terror. The Steve of his present was a finicky, and fearful creature, and Bucky was hesitant to believe Steve genuinely wanted what he was asking of him. Slowly, Bucky shifted his hold on Steve just a little bit, gauging his reaction as his eyes flitted down the delicate sweep of his back. “You...want me to have sex with you…” Bucky murmured, not necessarily a question or a statement, but Steve nodded haltingly against his shoulder none the less.

“Yeah...I- I do, but...I want _you_ to want it too...to want _me…_ .Even if this is the only time I’ll be able to give my consent, _I don’t want it if I don’t have yours….”_

Bucky faltered, blinking in surprise, because…that had never been asked of him before…. He’d been _used_ before, _weaponized_ , or used to pleasure his superiors, but...no one had ever asked him whether or not he _wanted_ it, and for the most part the Soldier would have impartially murmured that felt nothing. _He existed to be used._ But with Steve...with Steve there was something there...there was something deeply buried in the dark, swirling murk of his memories. Something in Bucky _remembered_ wanting him. Letting out a low, slow breath, Bucky’s hand slid cautiously down Steve’s spine, just his thumb ghosting over the seam of his shirt and pants- just barely brushing pale, exposed flesh. It was a bizarre, and unfamiliar sensation… _wanting_ like that… _.but it was there,_ and Bucky cautiously let his hand slip under Steve’s shirt, the boy shivering as his fingers touched bare skin.

“I remember...something…” He admitted softly, Steve craning closer as Bucky cautiously dragged his hand up his spine, his shirt riding up to expose his back to the cold air. “I remember looking at you, and thinking about this... _having_ you like this, but...I didn’t think you would have ever wanted that. I’m...still not sure you really do.”

 _“I do-”_ Steve pressed hurriedly, suddenly drawing back a little bit, his breath hitching in his lungs. “I...I _do_ Buck...I didn’t think it would have happened like this, but…” His chin dipped, his eyes dropping down as Steve slowly leaned forward, his forehead brushing Bucky’s, the breath intimate between their lips. “But.. _.I wanted you too,_ even for all this- before I disappeared, and you were alone- b-before we even knew Hydra _existed_ , I wanted you...and... _I still do, Buck-”_ Haltingly, Steve’s gaze lifted to Bucky his eyes meeting his; open, and raw, and honest. “I want to be yours. _Only_ yours...but if I can’t have that, I at least want _my first time_ to be yours... _please_ Bucky…” Steve’s throat tightened, his mouth tugging into an aching smile. “We...we can still have this together. Just this once. _..Just one last good thing…”_

Bucky stared at Steve in return, and suddenly felt the weight of the sand spilling through Steve’s hourglass. Bucky’s time had already run out. They’d made him into the creature they needed him to be, but Steve still had time as himself...if only a little bit. He only had a few precious hours, a few precious days until he was to become a shell like Bucky...or until his weakened body gave out like Bucky feared. Steve’s time was running out. But they could still have this... _This one last good thing._

And suddenly...slowly, yet all at once, Bucky drew Steve forward, and took his chapped, cracked lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

Steve gasped softly, his eyes opening wide in the darkness as Bucky kissed him, before he sunk into it, his lashes fluttering closed, a raw little whine slipping from his throat as he kissed Bucky in return. Desperation and relief flooded his chest at the act- at the _kiss_...Bucky...kissing him like he could really want him. Kissing him like they could really have this. He craned in. He pressed into Bucky’s chest, a thin litany of soft whimpers escaping his lips as they kissed.

And then Bucky’s hands began to move. Slow- Purposeful. He dragged his right hand up Steve’s back, almost to the base of his neck, before trailing back down, his other- the incomprehensible metal one, easing down to slid over Steve’s ass, feeling it’s shape through the loose drawstring pants he’d been given.

Steve lifted his hips with the touch, letting Bucky draw him closer, and he broke the kiss with a soft gasp as Bucky’s wandering hand pushed his shirt up further again. With clumsy, shaking fingers, Steve slid his shirt off over his head, his breath catching- heart in his throat. He let the little slip of fabric coil to the floor, his lungs tight as Bucky’s eyes- so dark- so _different_ than they used to be- raked over his frail, bony chest.

Steve stared at him- wide eyed, catching his breath as he clung to Bucky’s jaw, his entire body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. But Bucky had gone still. Totally, and completely still. And Steve let out a shaken rattling breath, and he swallowed hard, his fingers slipping up to delicately brush over his chapped lips.

“Bucky?” He whispered hoarsely, still shaking, still holding onto him like a lifeline. Because It was still Bucky _-his Bucky-_ but so vastly different at the same time. He was no longer a lean, grinning boy with sun-browned skin and eyes that shone like the sun off of dark water. He and Steve weren’t messing around in the privacy of Bucky’s bedroom because friends just helped each other out like that. They weren’t experimenting so they could know how it all worked when some pretty dame took an interest. Steve was giving himself to Bucky, _fully_ , and _completely_ . He was giving him _everything_ , even now that Bucky was older than him by several years- tortured and lost, with almost none of his memories. He had been turned into a finely honed weapon, all muscle, and power and steel. His mind was a minefield of triggers and responses, and...and Steve was trusting him with his body at it’s most vulnerable.

He was trusting him, naked, exposed, and weakened. He was trusting him half-starved, recovering from multiple surgeries, and too battered and frail to even truly stand on his own. Bucky could snap him like a twig...even without meaning to, just a little too much force could be too much for him, but... _Steve was trusting him_...and he was giving himself to him, because in the end, Bucky was the only one he’d ever wanted anyways.

And Bucky just stared back, waiting; still, and silent, his expression weighted. And slowly, Steve let his fear crumble, releasing in a soft, tender plea that slipped from his lips like a stone.

_“Be gentle…”_

For a heavy second, Bucky didn’t move, staring at him, long, and hard, watching his expression like his life depended on it. And then slowly- very, _very_ slowly Bucky began to move. His body eased forward. Steve’s breath hitched in his chest, eyes flashing wide as Bucky leaned towards him, and slipped off his shirt. He reached behind Steve with measured movements, his face brought impossibly close in the darkness. And he stared at Steve all the while... _watching_ him through his lashes as Steve clung to him. And the the tortured remains of Bucky laid the shirt out over the hard, cold floor and continued to shift forward, holding Steve against him as he leaned him back. His body came over him- huge, and powerful- Steve catching his breath in a broken gasp as he was laid down. Bucky’s figure loomed over him, a mass of solid muscle in the darkness, and Steve swallowed, his heart racing until suddenly, he felt the delicate, brushing touch of Bucky’s warm fingers against his body.

Steve watched with reverence, and awe, and fear as Bucky touched him.

Holding his weight on his left arm, Bucky let his right hand slid over Steve’s chest, tracing his ribs, and hips, his fingertips dipping softly over his bellybutton, and ghosting over the scarring surgery site on his stomach. He was drinking him in- absorbing every touch, and then slowly, Bucky stooped, and pressed his mouth to his bird-bone chest.

He kissed his skin- not feathering little touches, but kissing like each was a brand. His mouth was firm, almost _bruising_ but so slow, and so- _so_ sweet...He kissed purposefully up his chest, protectiveness- _possessiveness_ radiating from his movements, his teeth scraping over one, soft, pink nipple and Steve hips gave a little jerk underneath him. Bucky pressed closer, kissing- claiming his fine, vulnerable throat, and Steve shivered, his hands reaching up to shakily frame Bucky’s pecs. His thin, cold fingers soothed over Bucky’s skin- unexpectedly warm in the freezing room. He could feel the ridges of scaring under his palms- feel puckered marked from bullet wounds, and Steve rubbed his thumbs cautiously over the hardened nub of Bucky’s nipples- watching for his reaction.

Bucky’s breath hitched with surprise, his lashes fluttering, Steve feeling them brushing his jaw as Bucky let out a rough breath against his neck.

Steve swallowed, his heart racing, but he pushed just a little further, rolling them between his fingers, and Bucky pressed deeper, kissing his neck- slotting one, thick thigh between Steve’s legs. Steve was thrumming with tension, and excitement, and nervousness,  his head tipping back shakily, the trembling growing more pronounced as Bucky’s mouth worked on his skin and Steve stroked, and teased over his body. But Bucky seemed to like it- to like _this…_ .to _want_ this the way Steve did and Steve let himself open up- let himself relinquish his fear as Bucky’s mismatched hands slid...so...so slowly downwards to wander the waistband of his sweatpants.

The other man slowly slid his hands down, and Steve lifted his hips with a shivering sigh as Bucky slid the thin sweatpants off his frail body, leaving him lying -naked- below him.

Steve’s whole body was prickling. The cold raced over his pale skin, held at bay by the warmth radiating from Bucky’s body and he lay on the concrete floor- naked, under the weathered, shattered form of the smiling boy he’d loved. Wordlessly, Steve spread his thighs, opening himself up to Bucky, his cock resting against his concave stomach, pupils blown out. Beside him, his boney fingers uncurled, the little, plastic bottle of lube still resting in his palm, and he lifted it to Bucky- a silent offering.

Bucky took the offering in slow, careful hands, the click of the cap opening echoing around the close, cold cell, and Steve licked his lips, shifting his legs a little further apart. Heat was flaring in his stomach, crawling through his veins, his weak heart racing. It was a heady sensation- a _terrifying_ one. It was wonderful- and frightening- and so, _so vulnerable._ It was _powerful_ , and Steve canted his hips in hungry desperation as the Soldier slid the fingers of his right hand- trailing- feather light down the inside of his thigh.

His fingers grazed his tender inner thigh, Steve’s breath hitching as Bucky touched- soft as a breath- along his cock.

No one had ever touched him like this before. Steve had tried- _a little bit_ at least- with girls, but never much, because his heart was at home, with Bucky. He’d tried clumsily flirting, but no one had seemed to want him- _a disabled hangnail on society…_ So before this dark- twisted situations, Steve had never had his first kiss. He’d never had anyone touch his body like a lover- with reverence, and care, and Steve found his lungs filling with the freezing cold air, spine arching as Bucky slid his fingers down between his legs.

He brushed lightly over Steve’s shaft, tracing down the underside, following the thick vein down to it’s base. His touch slid over Steve’s balls, fondling them with a kind of curiosity- feeling their weight in his palm- hearing Steve sigh- feeling him squirm at the stimulation. Bucky rolled them in his hand, a low, cracking sound slipping up from Steve’s throat, before he moved on. He traced a single fingertip down the stretch of thin, sensitive skin between his balls and his rim, before Bucky’s touch slid lower, his fingers brushing right over his entrance.

“ _Bucky-_ ” Steve gasped, his knees drawing towards his chest instinctively, his toes curling at the touch- chest heaving. The young man let out a shaky breath, rolling his head back to expose his throat. “Yes…” He whispered at Bucky’s hesitation. “Yes...Bucky...I want this- _please- I want this…”_

There was a heavy, quiet second, and then the heat of Bucky’s body eased close over top of him, and those warm, familiar lips pressed over his just as the first, slicked digit breached his tight body.

Steve gasped into the kiss, but caught Bucky’s face in frail hands before he had even a second to doubt himself- holding him close- kissing him like he’d never have the chance again- clinging to him like a lifeline. He kissed Bucky deep, and slow, haltingly adjusting to the technique of rolling his tongue into his lover's mouth-

God-

_His lover._

This dark, cold, horrible place...and he had Bucky.. _.and he had him as his lover…_

Steve’s chest shuddered in something like a sob, his thighs beginning to tremble as Bucky worked him open, slow, and careful, sparks of pleasure shooting through Steve’s body as his middle finger pressed against the soft little knot inside of him. He gasped, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressing against Bucky’s as his caught his breath. “Oh- Buck-” He managed, clutching his jaw, unconsciously beginning to rock his hips back against his fingers. “D...do that again- Mh- _Bucky…_ ”

Bucky’s eyes gleamed, curious, and breathtakingly intense in the darkness, and he curled his fingers, dragging over his prostate as Steve’s tiny body was suddenly taken with a rolling shudder, and a low noise rumbled up from the Soldier’s chest. He pressed in, his bare chest flush against Steve’s, his fingers working inside the tight, wet heat of his body. His left hand eased down, deftly working off his own loose sweat pants, and Steve gasped roughly as Bucky’s thick, hot length grazed his inner thigh in the darkness. He kissed Steve’s neck, and jaw, and mouth, slipping a third digit into Steve’s body, the young man keening in pleasure.

The stretch, and burn made Steve’s eyes water- but it was good- _god- so good._ Steve squirmed, pushing his hips back to take Bucky’s fingers deeper, clinging around his neck, the heels of his bare feet digging into the back of Bucky’s thighs. He clung to Bucky, panting, his chest- even his _skin_ warming from the exertion, and for the first time since his abduction- _Steve was warm_.

Slowly, Steve felt a horrible, cold sensation of emptiness rush through his body as Bucky eased his fingers out of him, a raw little whimper escaping his lips. But the Soldier hushed him- low, and quiet. He leaned close. He pressed a soft tender kiss to Steve’s dry, cracked lips… _“You want this?”_ He whispered, and Steve felt a shiver spill down his spine as just the head of Bucky’s shaft touched his dripping, gaping entrance.

Steve nodded, his eyes closed, lips parted with want as he shifted his hips invitingly, spreading his thighs wider. “Yes-” He panted, blinking up at him through the darkness before swallowing hard, nodding again. “Yes, Buck- I- I do- D... _do you?”_ Steve wet his lips with a dart of his tongue, trying to make out his lover’s expression in the darkness. He reached up with shaking hands, delicately brushing over the gaunt, hardened lines of his face. _“Do you want this too, Buck?”_

Steve felt Bucky swallow, and the his head bobbed under his his delicate touch, Bucky letting out a soft, breathless sound. “ _Yes…_ ” He whispered against Steve’s lips, his breath warm, and fluttering- like a bird- like a beating heart.

And slowly, gently, Steve leaned up, and took Bucky’s mouth in a kiss.

And with equal tenderness, Bucky took Steve’s narrow hips in his hands, and eased forward, taking him the way Steve had never been taken before- the way Steve had begged of him.

_Their last good thing._

Steve’s breath left him in a low, broken whine as Bucky pushed into him. At first, the stretch, and burn of his thick girth pushing into his body was almost too much, and Steve’s fingers curled over Bucky’s shoulders- gasping as he tried to take him. His thighs began to tremble, Steve whimpering, shifting his hips to try and create more room inside his tiny, frail body. He rolled them forward, clinging to Bucky- giving a keening moan.

And then Bucky eased back. He drew back until just the very head of his cock was clamped in the tightness of Steve’s body, and he pressed in, kissing his lips and cheeks, and neck, breathing warm air across his throat as he just rocked his hips, just a tiny bit at a time.

Slowly, reluctantly, Steve’s body gave up it’s tension, and the younger man breathed a low, hitching moan as Bucky pushed deeper. Slowly- it began to be what Steve had hoped it would be.

It stopped hurting.

Bucky’s hands on him were firm, and protective, but so- _so_ gentle. _He wasn’t hurting him._ Steve hadn’t triggered any line of conditioning to turn him vicious, and brutal. He kissed him with reverence, and tenderness, and ran his hands over his frail, broken body like- even battered as it was- it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It was soft, and intimate, and consensual...and it was everything Steve could have asked for with the lot they’d had cast for them.

It wasn’t two, reckless teenagers having sex in a tangle of gangly arms and legs on their bed for the fun of it- for the adrenaline, and pleasure. It wasn’t two adults indulging in sultry company after a meeting in a smoky bar. It was two raw, ragged souls, stripped bare, and gaping like open wounds, twining together in one last, desperate act of free will before it was ripped from them forever. It was pure intimacy and desperate need. _It was love in it’s most raw form._

Bucky slid one arm under Steve’s frail body, holding him close, clinging to him as he rocked into him- as he pushed his cock in and out in slow deep strokes that had him gasping and squirming in his arms. Steve’s frail, bony arms clutched around Bucky’s neck, his face pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, gasping out a broken litany of soft noises of pleasure, and he rolled his hips, thrusting downwards to meet Bucky’s.

Their lovemaking was slow, and desperate, and sweet, even on the hard, cold floor of a cell; ever surrounded by pain, and darkness. Even so far from the life Steve had ever imagined for them. _..they had each other._ And Bucky took Steve like he’d never let him go- like to hurt Steve would tear his still beating heart from his chest.

He stared down at the fragile, broken thing that had trusted his last scrap of safety- and of self- to _him-_  to a creature who could barely remember what love was supposed to feel like- who hardly remembered the gentleness of a kiss, or the caress of the sun. He stared up at him- so hopeful- and trusting, that soft face with it’s shattered blue eyes and pale, sunken cheeks staring back at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure.

And suddenly, Bucky shifted his hold, rolling Steve’s hips forward just enough that he could hit that sweet spot of softness inside him- that little cluster of nerves that made Steve’s body quake, and his mouth drop open in a helpless cry of pleasure.

“ _Buck-_ ” Steve gasped, his body arching underneath him as he rocked back to meet his thrusts. “Buck- Bucky- _god-_ ” He panted, grabbing his shoulder and trying to push down, trying to pleasure his beautiful Bucky the way he was pleasuring him. And Bucky let out a low noise against Steve’s throat, his hips stuttered, cock throbbing inside the tight, wet heat of Steve’s body, and Steve shivered at the sensation.

 _He could feel Bucky’s pulse inside him-_ his heartbeat deep in the depths of his own body. _God-_ Steve felt the lines between them blurring, Bucky’s soul twisting, and coiling and twining with his own- their bodies merging together- Bucky inside him- _Bucky inside him._

Steve moaned, his hips jerking, Bucky gasping aloud at the movement, and Steve ground down, circling his hips desperately.

“Steve-” Bucky panted, his words so few, and far in between, his powerful chest heaving as he sheathed his entire, thick length into Steve with every stroke, his body quivering with tension. A weak part of him wanted to cry. He’d never been allowed this- to feel pleasure- to feel intimacy, and love. He’d never been given a choice. Never allowed consent...and Steve gave it all to him so freely. _So freely._ He made him feel so good, even with no reason- even when Bucky didn’t deserve it.

But despite this, Bucky felt his body coiling with tension- felt a pull deep behind his spine, and he pressed close, panting into Steve’s neck. “Steve-” He tried again, the words sticking in his throat, his hips faltering. “I-”

“It’s okay-” Steve whispered, his hands moving to his back, fingernails dragging white lines down his skin, his voice breaking in a whine as he rolled into the thrust. “It’s okay, Buck- go on...Go on- it’s okay. _I want you to-_ Please Buck.. _.make me yours…”_

At the desperate plea, Bucky felt himself crack, and suddenly, every muscle in his body went tense. He curled forward, a low groan escaping from deep inside his chest, his hips snapping forwards one more time before shudders took him and he spilled thick, hot lines of his release into Steve’s body. He braced his weight over top of him, trembling, his orgasm shaking him to his core as he _shook_ , and _shook_ and _shook,_ moisture suddenly dripping from his eyes.

He stared down at Steve, his heart jerking at the expression on his face. His cheeks were wet. Bucky’s own tears dotted his pale cheeks, Steve’s own trickling into his hairline. But his _eyes_ \- Steve’s clear blue eyes stared back at him, wide with shock and such pure, raw _love_ that it made Bucky’s soul twist inside him. Steve’s mouth was slack, his eyes huge, hands still on his back. And there they held, seconds blending into minutes, the two just laying there- gasping, staring at one another in the pure stunned amazement at the thing they’d shared…

And suddenly, Bucky blinked, tears scattering through his lashes as he shifted his weight, reaching carefully down to Steve’s cock. “Steve- I’m sorry, He whispered, his cock softening inside Steve’s clenched ring of muscle, his own come dripping out, cooling in the freezing air. “I’m sorry- this was supposed to be for you, _I- I’m sorry-”_

Almost abruptly, Steve’s hand slipped down, catching over Bucky’s quickly enough to startle him, and Bucky drew in a short breath, his eyes snapping up. “No-” Steve said gently, pausing for a heavy second, his mouth turning up into a tiny smile. “No.. _.it’s okay Buck.._ .you were _perfect…_ ” He breathed, craning up to nuzzle tenderly against his cheek, delicately kissing the corner of his mouth. _“You were perfect…”_

“You didn’t come…” Bucky murmured softly, his brow drawing, his heart a little frantic. This was supposed to be for Steve. He’d made him feel so good.. _.so good._..he wanted Steve to feel that way too…

Steve shook his head, his eyes glazed with exhaustion, his mouth turned up into a faint smile. “It’s okay, I promise…” He breathed, before the tiny smirk shifted into a little, self deprecating smirk. “I don’t work so great down there anyways, but... _you were perfect…”_ Steve murmured, his voice cracking just a tiny bit as he reached up, brushing across Bucky’s wet lashes as another thin trickle of cold tears slipped down his own temples. “This was all I wanted... _Just this…”_ He whispered, kissing him tenderly, craning into his arms. _“Just this…_ ”

Slowly, Bucky eased closer, letting a carefully controlled amount of his weight rest on Steve’s fragile frame- blanketing him in warmth as he held him close, his arms around him, still seated inside of him. He nuzzled into Steve’s neck kissing gently- tenderly as they came down- catching their breath- drinking in each other’s warmth, and presence.

_It wasn’t much._

It was just a few brief minutes, but for a few brief minutes, it had been just _them_ . There was no Soldier. No Hydra. No directors, or agents, or doctors...no experiments. For just a few, brief minutes, it had just been allowed to be them. Just Bucky and Steve. _Together_ , despite everything. Just them loving each other. Being together. _Belonging to one another._

Bucky didn’t want to move Steve. So instead, the two of them curled up there on the hard cell floor, wrapped in eachother’s arms; breathing in each other’s scents. Steve kept his face buried into Bucky’s neck, and Bucky nuzzled into the short blond hairs that were beginning to grow back in over Steve’s deeply scabbed scalp. And Bucky cradled Steve close to his heart, and whispered wordless comforts to him as he drifted into sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, kicking off the week with another chapter! I'm looking forward to hearing all your thoughts and comments, they go such a long way in keeping me motivated on these stories. <3 See you all next week!


	7. Main Event

Bucky woke to Steve tenderly caressing his cheeks in the darkness.

They had slipped off to sleep right there on the hard concrete floor, tangled in each other's naked bodies, soaking up each other's warmth, and breathing in each other's scents. Steve's frail, abused body was blanketed in Bucky's weight, his figure tucked firmly in his arms, and Bucky blinked his eyes open. 

Steve had eased himself back just enough to slide his arms up between them, his thin, chilly fingers brushing lovingly over his face as he stared at him through the darkness, his expression soft with deep, aching affection. And at the tender caress, Bucky felt his mouth tug into the rusty, unfamiliar expression of a smile.

“Steve…” He murmured, smiling faintly as Steve's fingers traced over his brow, his hand turning to softly run the backs of his knuckles down his jaw and the boy returned the raw, broken little smile.

_“Hey…”_ Steve breathed in return, his hands shifting to carefully draw Bucky's mouth close, kissing him softly, and Bucky's heart turned over inside of his chest.

He leaned in gently, his mouth matching Steve's tenderly as he kissed him, deep, and slow, acutely aware that this fragile little thing- this delicate suggestion of love and devotion was the purest, most beautiful blessing had ever been giving. In the middle of the confusion, and pain, and blood, he had _Steve_...Steve who wasn't afraid of him... _Steve who loved him_ \- who gave himself to him, and allowed Bucky consent, and pleasure, and _love_ … Easing his hand up, Bucky gently stroked Steve's gaunt, sunken cheek as he broke away from the kiss, his lashes fluttering against Steve’s. “You should dress….” He breathed softly, despite the closeness- the intimacy he felt having Steve like this. 

But Steve was frail, and sick, and the cold would get to him eventually. And if the cell door were to open they would be completely exposed. Hydra was nothing but cruelty, and it’s moments of ‘kindness’ truly only veiled more. Steve was given to the Soldier as a gift- a supposed _reward_ for his ‘service,’ but it had only masked the pain that they’d known would be inflicted when Steve was inevitably terrified of him. Hydra’s rewards were merely sugared poisons, and if they knew the cruelty of their gift had worn away Steve would be taken from him. 

So they had to maintain appearances. They couldn’t be found like this.  

Steve nodded softly, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face- still reluctant to move. He wanted to live in those few moments for just a short while longer. He wanted to live in the moments when he’d been Bucky’s, and Bucky had been his- when the only thing that had mattered was their love making- slow, and sweet, and desperate. He wanted to seal that moment away in a jar, and hold it close to his heart, and bring it out to look at whenever the pain was too much, and death began to look like a mercy.

But Bucky was right…

Slowly, Bucky eased his body up, drawing Steve carefully up along with him, their naked bodies still flush together- Bucky’s cock resting- soft, and sticky against the inside of Steve’s thigh. And Steve clung to him selfishly for several moments longer, his face buried in Bucky’s neck. He wanted to thank him again- _over, and over_ \- he wanted to thank Bucky for giving him that experience- for letting him give himself willingly. He wanted to thank him for that until there was no breath left in his lungs, but all that he managed was a low, shaky exhale, Bucky’s hand rubbing soothingly over his back. 

“Come on…” He whispered quietly in Steve’s left ear, close enough that he could hear him clearly- close enough for Bucky’s lips to brush his cold skin. And reluctantly, Steve nodded, pushing back for Bucky’s comforting warmth, and easing to his knees, groping for his clothing in the darkness. 

Now that he was apart from Bucky, Steve was suddenly keenly aware of the cold, and he let out a shuddering breath, his skin prickling as the chill seeped under his skin. He could feel Bucky’s essence dripping out of him- wet, and uncomfortably cold, and Steve squirmed a little, his hands finding the drawstring pants where they’d been discarded hours before. Behind him, Bucky was already dressing, sliding the loose, soft material on over his hips and donning his shirt as Steve sat on the floor struggling to untangle his own sweatpants.

His hands weren’t working with him quite so well anymore... They shook near _constantly_ , and aching from the cold. The joints were stiff, and painful, and Steve grimaced as he tugged the sweatpants rightside out, managing to get them over his ankles before he stood unsteadily, struggling them on over his hips.

He let out a huffing breath, his chest tight. Even the simple task left him exhausted, and Steve sunk down on the end of the cot, his shirt still held loosely in his aching hands as he caught his breath. 

Bucky eased close again, his figure materializing into Steve’s dim circle of vision, his hand slipping out to brush over the fine, cropped hair growing back in over Steve’s scalp, and Bucky felt a twinge of disappointment as he realized that meant it would be shaved away again soon. Bucky loved Steve’s hair...He wanted to card his fingers through it, and stroke it out of his eyes. But every time it grew past a rough bristle, it was shorn back again. It was honestly surprising that they’d left it go this long as it was. 

“Are you alright?...” Bucky murmured, low, and gentle, caressing softly over Steve’s head, hearing that concerning, wheezing rattle in his lungs. Beneath him, Steve dropped his head in a heavy nod. 

“Yeah…” He murmured lowly, blinking in the darkness. “Yeah, m’okay, Bucky...Just tired…”

It was more concerning than Steve let on, and the seriousness of the statement wasn’t lost on Bucky. Steve had already pushed through, and survived what may have destroyed lesser men, but his body wasn’t built for it. Hydra was pushing their luck as it was- subjecting Steve to conditions like this if they wanted him alive. Were it not for who Steve was in his soul, his body would have succumb long ago…

Bucky eased closer, gently drawing Steve close, the boy’s head resting on his ribs, his gaunt face nuzzling into Bucky’s shirt. And for a long moment, that’s where they stayed, indulging in the closeness, Bucky’s hands cradled over the back of his head. There was so much that should be said...there were realities that needed to be face...confessions that needed to be made. But somehow...it all seemed irrelevant. In that moment, nothing seemed to matter, and the only comfort they could draw in the endless vacuum of misery was each other’s presence. 

Steve nuzzled closer in against his chest when abruptly Bucky jerked back, Steve catching his breath in a half-second of surprise, and hurt, before realization crashed over him. Bucky’s senses were finely honed- Steve’s deeply below average, and Bucky could sense when their captors were going to enter before Steve ever had a _prayer_ of noticing. 

He’d already back against the far wall of the cell, his hands laced behind his head. 

Steve lurched to his feet in one, imbalanced motion, his trembling hands struggling with the shirt as he caught just the suggestion of footfalls before he abruptly gave up, dropping the shirt and clasping his hands behind his head. 

The door swung open with a cruel  _ slam _ , heartless, white light flooding the room, and Steve ducked his head, closing his eyes against it. The light glared over his thin, malnourished figure, blinding him as hands seized him and he was dragged out, stumbling after his captors, his soul turning sick inside him at the premonition at the pain to come. Steve was shoved forward, another agent catching him roughly as Steve let out a sharp yelp, blinking against the harsh light.

And suddenly, what had been predictable, and cruelly routine, shattered. 

_ They were taking Bucky too- _

Panic crawled up Steve’s throat as Bucky was pulled from the cell behind him, a guard on both sides, guns trained on him from multiple angles. He didn’t resist, but Steve saw the flash in his eyes- the realization that this was something different- something  _ new _ . 

This wasn’t an examination for Steve. This wasn’t a mission for the Soldier. 

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes finding Rumlow, who held him in his iron grip dragging him down the hall as Bucky was transported just behind him. “What’s going on-” Steve managed raggedly, shaking as he stumbled on rubbery legs. _“What’s happening? What are you doing?”_ He demanded, eyes flashing wildly around as he was dragged past the medical bay door- down a hallway he’d never passed through before, and the panic turned him sick. 

“Main event, Cap,” Rumlow responded, with a smirk, dragging him close as he swiped them through a door. In his arms, Steve jerked around his eyes flashing with wild mania as he tried to catch sight of Bucky, wrenching, and struggling against his captor. Rumlow’s expression twisted, and he jerked Steve viciously, yanking him around and grabbing the back of his neck in a cruel hand, wrenching his face up to his. Rumlow leaned close, baring his teeth in a nasty grin.

“Better brace yourself, Stevie. Because after this, everything you’ve felt leading up to it’s gonna feel like kiddie play.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve was dragged through halls, and doorways, Bucky led behind him, silent, and restrained, and for all the fear Rumlow’s words had instilled in him, it was  _ Bucky _ he was scared for. He didn’t know why he was here- why he was being brought along behind him, gun’s trained to his head. Steve was scared- he was fucking  _ terrified- _ and he had no idea what he was walking into.

The bay doors opened, gaping wide on a huge observation deck, looking down into a pitted center- the room sterile, and glaringly white.

Rumlow hauled Steve down a flight of stairs into the sunken central area- the centerpiece: A large, metal pod- a coffin of sorts, and Steve’s stomach turned sour with terror. _God- what the hell was this?_ Steve dug in his heels, pushing back, his feet skidding as he fought to halt their progress, his head jerking in a ragged, aborted shake.

“No- _no- no-”_ He rasped, his eyes huge, head snapping back just in time to see Bucky forced to his knees, hands still gripping his neck, and shoulders, gun’s still trained on his head. “No- No- Stop it-  _ Stop it!”  _

But even as the strangled cry wrenched from his throat, Rumlow’s hold turned to iron, and he hauled him up, slamming his frail body into the metal coffin. Steve broke out a raw cry of pain, but Rumlow just shoved him back, strapping down his limbs, and chest, loosely looping a strap around his neck to keep his head back.

“Keep still, Cap, you’ll be better off for it.” He hissed, before Rumlow's mouth turned up into a nasty, curling smirk, and he patted Steve’s heaving chest as he walked away. 

Steve gulped in a breath of air, trying not to let his body slip into an asthma attack- but his head was spinning. His heart was racing so fast he thought it’d burst, and his lungs tightened dangerously in his chest. His eyes stung, gaze locking on where Bucky knelt, helpless, and restrained, and slowly, the other man’s haunted eyes lifted to his.

And that was all the more terrifying. Because Bucky never looked at him when they weren’t alone.

Unless they were locked away, together, in the darkness, Bucky didn’t even acknowledge Steve’s existence, for both their sakes. But now, Bucky looked up at him, eyes wide, expression taut with panic, because he _knew_ \- He knew as well as Steve did that this was where everything changed. This was what Steve had been dreading ever since the horrible reality of his situation had sunk in.

_ The end of his life.  _

The door in the observation deck on the other side of the room opened with an echoing  _ click _ and Steve’s stomach twisted with sour disgust and fear as Alexander Pierce strolled casually down into the sunken room. 

The Director’s expression was smug, and satisfied. His suit was pristine- ash gray with a white carnation pinned to his lapel- as if this were some kind of celebration rather than the culmination of weeks of abuse on a young man who’d never asked for any of this. Footfalls echoed across the floor, Pierce momentarily moving out of his sight- around behind his twisted coffin- before he circled back around. The director came to a stop. His hands rested loosely behind his back, his chin lifted, head dipped slightly to the side as he observed Steve.

“Hello again, Rogers.” He greeted, that false, grandfatherly warmth turning Steve’s stomach with nausea. “I trust you’ve adjusted to your situation a little more since we last spoke?”

_“Fuck off-”_ Steve spat, saliva flecking the Director’s glasses, and the man’s head instinctively pulled back, expression contorting with distaste. 

Removing his glasses, Pierce withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning off his glasses and replacing them efficiently, his pale, dead, blue eyes lifting back to Steve with poorly concealed contempt. “I do hope that, very soon now, you'll appreciate everything Hydra is doing for you, Steven…” He said in a weighted tone, strolling closer as he surveyed his frail, abused body “We’re going to make you better.” Pierce said, as though completely altering Steve, down to the makeup of his very  _ cells _ , and stripping him of his agency and sense of self was something he should _thank_ him for. “We're going to make you faster, and stronger than you could imagine...the picture of health, and strength, and under our guidance, Steven,” His eyes dragged up to Steve’s, the corners crinkling as he smiled coldly. “You are going to be a savior to mankind.”

Steve was heaving, horrified, and nauseous, his heart in his throat as he stared back at the Director. He was a demonic mimic of all the things Steve had once bitterly wished for- to be healthy, and strong- to be able to help people...but coming out of his mouth, Steve had never wanted anything _less_ in his life. He just wanted to be himself. He just wanted to be _Steve._ And the only person he wanted to save was- 

Steve's eyes betrayed him.

His gaze fluttered back to Bucky, and Pierce's eyes slid over, the older man glancing over his shoulder as he surveyed Bucky’s restrained figure. 

_“Ah…”_ He comment under his breath, turning from Steve and slowly strolling towards Bucky, his hands held loosely behind his back and Steve's stomach plunged.

_“No!”_ Steve lurched ferally against his bonds, knowing that hiding was useless now. “No! No- _keep away from him-_ don't you fucking touch him! He’s got nothing to do with this _\- leave him alone!”_ He spat, twisting, and wrenching in the restraints, and Pierce’s eyes flickered back to him. And as though purely to wound Steve, he reached out, taking Bucky's chin and lifting his face, forcing his shattered eyes up to him.

“I'm not going to harm him, Steven.” The Director said levelly, surveying his ashen face, before his tone shifted, his eyes still fixed on Bucky. “The Soldier is here not only as a privilege, but as an observer…” He said quietly, his eyes locking with Buckys. 

_ “We want him to witness the creation of his Captain….” _

Under Pierce’s hand, Bucky’s eyes widened, his mouth going slack as he stared up at him, his arms held behind him in the iron grips of the soldiers, the hair on the back of his neck prickling from the proximity of the guns trained on him. But his eyes were fixed solely on the Director. 

They were going to destroy him. They were going to destroy his light- his heart- his  _ Steve.  _

_ And they were going to make him watch.  _

Releasing Bucky’s chin with a tug, Pierce turned, strolling back towards Steve, who lay, strapped into the coffin, heaving sickly. “You’re going to understand very soon…” He assured him softly, the way one spoke to a panicked child. “You will be better. All the hurt will stop...and you will know order.” 

_“Let him go-”_ Steve cracked out, a plea from a dead boy’s lips. “I’ll do what you want-” He bargained. “I won’t fight, I’ll be your-...savior to fucking humanity, but _let Bucky go…please.._.Y-you said I was the perfect candidate, and now you have me, so you can let him go. _You don’t need him anymore.”_

_“Steve!”_ Bucky barked, all the agents around him abruptly tensing as the power in their arms coiled with panic, and hurt.

Steve’s eyes snapped over to Bucky, burning with unshed tears and wild with desperation. “Let me do this!” He snapped, his voice cracking horribly, cold tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’ve been through enough- _ Let me do this for you!”  _ Steve begged, leaning forward as far as the restraints would allow, his weak heart racing in his chest. _God- please just let something good come out of this nightmare. Let him give himself for Bucky._ If it was his last act of freewill, he would give it. He’d go quietly to the slaughter. He’d become a weapon. He’d die. He didn’t care, just so long as Bucky went free. _He deserved that…_

For a raw moment, there wasn’t a single other entity in the room, just Steve, pressing forward as though he could snap the restraints and fall into his arms. Just Bucky, kneeling on the floor and staring up at the pale, golden angel in the coffin. Just hurt. Just raw _agony,_ and desperation. Just the love strong enough to span decades, and torture, and abuse.

And suddenly, the moment shattered, and the Director reached forward, tracing his fingers along the open door of the cruel metal pod, his cold, dead eyes surveying Steve cooley. “I’m afraid not, Captain…” He said quietly, but not so quiet to disguise the words from Bucky. “The Soldier will still be a valuable asset to us- even more valuable perhaps after we have your unrestricted services. In fact, almost  _ certainly _ . He’s always lacked a certain…. _ something _ .” Pierce’s eyes flashed up to him, his mouth curling into a deceptive smile. “A  _ will _ , shall we say? But with you- after he’s reconditioned, and you- trained...his loyalty will make him a stronger soldier than ever...under your command, he will be more deadly than we could have _ever_ enforced him to be.” 

Steve’s stomach dropped.  

_ He was right _ . God- _ he was right.. _ .With Steve as his Captain, Bucky would follow him anywhere...something in them would still remember- the need to follow each other- cover each other. It would inspire a loyalty deeper than any Hydra could instill...but under their thumb, it would only make them more compliant. Even now...even before they twisted him, Steve was already willing to do anything they wanted to keep Bucky from further harm. 

The thought of what he would do for them after he was made a shell turned Steve’s stomach with nausea. 

Slowly, Steve’s eyes lifted, burning with rage, his body shaking, his throat constricted into a knot. And he met the Director’s gaze. He met the eyes of the man who had instructed all of this to be done to him- to _Bucky._ He looked the man who’d decided he should be abducted, dehumanized, tortured, and experimented on, in the eyes, and pulled his lips back in a snarl. 

“I don’t care what you do to me-” Steve hissed, his frail chest heaving. “I don’t care how you change me, or make me forget. I will never be your _puppet.”_ He spat his heart frothing with rage. “I’ll find a way to get him, and I _will_ find a way out, and I swear to God I’ll burn this entire fucking complex to the ground.” 

Pierce’s expression darkened, his brow twisting as his grip curled on the door, his eyes like ice. “I don’t care what you  _ think _ you’ll do, Rogers.” He said quietly, his voice soft, and violent. “I have been the head of Hydra longer than you’ve been alive, and you think you know better than I do what we are capable of?” That false, benevolent expression fazed, his soft, aged, mouth curling into a smirk- and terrifying mania sparking behind his eyes. “When this is all over, You won’t even know you’re own  _ name _ .”

Steve lurched viciously against his bonds, his mouth drawn in a snarl, his pupils constricted to pin pricks in the center of his shattered blue eyes, and the Director drew back, strolling easily away from him. 

“I suppose now’s a good a time as any…” He mused, almost to himself before his eyes turned to Rumlow. “Agent Rumlow, please close Mr. Rogers in, and tell the men in the booth that we’re ready. 

For the first time since the Director had entered the room, Rumlow moved, his head dipping in an impersonal nod, before he approached Steve, the viciousness he’d come to recognize seeping back through the cracks of his expression. His mouth curled into a smile as he leaned forward, his hands braced on either side of the coffin, uncomfortably close to Steve’s face. “Ready Stevie?” He breathed, grinning ferally at him, and Steve’s eyes widened, his rage stripping away to bare-boned horror. 

“No-” He breathed, suddenly not- _not ready- not at all._ “No...no-  _ Bucky _ _!”_ Steve screamed abruptly, lurching forward, staring right past Rumlow like he wasn’t even there. “ _ BUCKY _ !”

Bucky’s head snapped up, the ripple of tension it sent through his guards visible even to Steve’s weak eyes- even from a distance- and Bucky pressed forward, surging against the arms holding him. “ _ Steve!” _

“DON’T LET THEM TAKE YOU!” Steve screamed Rumlow grabbing Steve’s whole face in one large hand and slamming his head back. Steve cried out in pain, his words breaking in a cracked sob “I-” _ He just wanted to tell him he loved him. Just one more time. _ But the fragile, broken thing that they’d shared would turn to poison meeting their ears. Hydra would twist it, and turn it cruel, and bitter, and... _ and Bucky knew...he knew… _

Steve let out a shuddering gasp as Rumlow drew back, and suddenly, the heavy, metal doors came slamming down together with a  _ crash _ so loud it wrenched a scream from Steve’s lungs. And suddenly, the air was stale, and the sound was trapped. Suddenly, Steve was locked in a metal coffin, isolated from everything were it not for the square, thick paned window just a little bit above eye level. Abruptly, Steve strained against his bonds, stretching his neck- craning, until he caught just a glimpse of the man he loved. 

God-  _ Bucky- _

He was pulling against his handlers, straining forward as far as the iron grip on his body would allow, his eyes wild and terrified, and Steve felt his heart twist violently inside his chest. 

“ _ Bucky- _ ” He choked out, his broken cry too loud in the small space, and Steve swallowed back the sob that tried to strip from his throat. “God-” He gasped raggedly, tears coursing down his cheeks.  _ ‘Just don’t let them make you forget-’ _

Outside the coffin was something nearing chaos.

The Asset surged, and struggled against his handlers, violating protocol the way he hadn’t in decades. The agents restraining him screamed threats and abuse, the butts of guns slammed into his back and shoulder blades, but he just lurched and wrenched manically against the grip, his over long hair hanging in front of his wild eyes. 

“Steve! _STEVE!_ _NO!_ LET HIM GO! _LEAVE HIM ALONE!”_ Bucky screamed, Steve’s wide, terrified eyes flashing through the thick glass pane in the coffin door. _God-_ that thing was going to trigger an asthma attack- he was going to suffocate in there- they- they were going to hurt him- _they were going to hurt his Steve_. And suddenly, the fractured remains of Bucky Barnes pieced together in a distorted mosaic of terror, and desperation, and he fought against his handlers like a man possessed- screaming- tears running down his gaunt, ashen face. “LET HIM OUT!” He screamed, saliva flecking from his lips, knees pushing against the floor. “ _LET HIM OUT- YOU’RE GONNA KILL HIM! LET HIM OUT!”_

And suddenly, one of Bucky’s guards hauled back, and _cracked_ the butt of his gun against Bucky’s temple, and blinding white flashed in front of his eyes before he dropped like a stone. 

And the last sound in the room before the dials in the booth were turned was Steve’s gutting _scream_ of rage as Bucky’s body hit the linoleum.

The surge of power sucked every light in the room down to nothing, and for the span of a heartbeat, there was nothing but the strained humming of hundreds of lights, and the cracked sob of a dying boy. And then the light _flared,_ bright, and harsh, and sourcing. 

_ And a tortured scream that was purely animal filled the air like a poison.  _

On the hard, linoleum floor, Bucky twitched, his lashes lifting over glazed eyes, cracked lips parting in a moan as his beloved’s gutted screams met his ringing ears. Bucky lurched at the sound, but after the blow, his hands had been cuffed behind him, the weight of several Agents pressing down on his back, and Bucky let out a hoarse choke, his eyes snapping up. “ _ Steve- _ ” He rasped in a cracked whisper, the tortured screams turning his chest to lead. “Steve!  _ Stop- _ ” Bucky gasped, his wild eyes snapping up to the Director whose gaze lingered on the pod watching the thick window curiously as Steve’s frail body contorted within the bonds, his vocal cords stripping, and frying from the constant abuse of the agonized screams that tore from his lungs. 

“Stop-” Bucky rasped, writhing against his restraints. “Stop it! Stop!  _ YOU’RE KILLING HIM!” _ His voice pitched into breaking cry, Steve’s scream tearing his heart into bleeding shreds, and the Director’s cold eyes turned to Bucky. 

“We’re saving him, Soldier.” Pierce said, his voice almost lost amid the tortured sounds escaping the coffin. “You know better than anyone that order only comes through pain-”

“SHUT UP!” Bucky screamed all but frothing, his cheeks wet with hot, agonized tears. “ _ SHUT UP!” _

His icy eyes snapped down, the Director pacing over the the Soldier’s bound body, his heel pressing down on his vividly bruised temple, his weight bearing down as his expression flashed with controlled anger. “Remember your place Soldier. Without us, you would have died a bloody death in that ravine, and he never would have survived to his thirtieth birthday. Hydra is giving him a gift. _..just like you.”_

And suddenly, all around them the lights dimmed, Steve’s scream’s cracking to a new plane of anguish before everything went deathly still. 

Bucky caught his breath, horror spilling through his veins.

The Director stepped off. 

Rumlow moved to the doors to the pod. And slowly, achingly slowly, the heavy metal doors cracked open. 

A sick, gray fog spilled from the coffin. Something thick, and dark dripped from the lower edge onto the linoleum with soft, sinister taps. And as Rumlow reached into the coffin to pull loose the straps, a ravaged body fell to the floor with a sick  _ thump _ .

In another timeline- _an aborted timeline-_ Hydra would have had more of Dr. Erskine’s original research. But in this one, they had only scraps- the bare bones, fleshed out with bastardized data, which produced a bastardized subject. 

Bucky could see a body that was no longer his Steve’s laying on the floor, _heaving,_ its legs still tangled in the strap. Standing, it would be taller than him, and strapped with muscle. But it lay on the floor- quivering, its skin spilt in wide tears where the muscle had generated too quickly to be accommodated- across its back, biceps, and thighs- in long, lateral splits down the backs of it’s calves. Its ribs shuddered, and heaved, a broken litany of low, agonized gasps meeting Bucky’s ears. 

_ But it was Steve.  _

Somewhere in that tortured body was _his Steve_ , and Bucky lurched on the floor, a broken cry of horror slipping his lips as several agent’s took the trembling figure’s arms, and shoulders, lifting him with an animalistic, keening whimper that broke Bucky’s heart.

The Director paced close, reaching out and grabbing the top of Steve’s head- over the short blond hairs and patchy scabbing all over his scalp, and dragged his face up. 

Bucky couldn’t see. He couldn’t see Steve’s face- couldn’t see anything as the Director studied his technician's handiwork. And after a heartless second, he released his hold, Steve’s head dropping like a stone before he gestured to his men with a wave of his hand. 

“He’ll do.  _ Take him to the wiping chamber.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments encouraged. Screaming welcome. ;)


	8. Chaos

Bucky was dragged out of the sunken chamber, bound, at gunpoint, his wild horrified eyes fixed on the body being dragged along a few paces in front of him. _It didn't make sense. It wasn't right._ Bucky looked at the ravaged, broken body, and didn't see _Steve._

He didn't see the soft, frail little thing that had given him love, and pleasure, and tenderness. He didn't see the beautiful, willowy boy that had trusted him with his heart.

He saw a tortured creature.

Bucky saw a man in too much pain to even _move_ , to even _twitch_ against his captors. He saw a body dripping with blood from the ragged tears in his skin, pulled wide over too-quickly developed muscle. It was a figure that gasped and choked in pain with the tone of someone Bucky had loved.

_Steve._

It _was_ Steve.

_And they had destroyed him._

“ _Please-_ ” Bucky rasped in a strangled cry, his stomach turning nauseously at the way the agents handled his Steve. The careless way they dragged, and hauled him when he was clearly in agony. “Please!” he tried again, lurching against the hands restraining him. “Please you have to stop! _Can't you see something's wrong with him?”_ Bucky pleaded in raw desperation.

Bucky had a distant, foggy impression of a memory of when they'd done this to him. He remembered the pain in the chamber, _but it hadn't been like this._ Outside the horrible, metal coffin, the agony had subsided, leaving him disoriented, and sore. But his skin hadn’t torn. He hadn't been bleeding, and quivering in mind numbing anguish. But then, there had been less to change with him...he remember almost nothing, but he was _sure_ he'd never been as small and sick as Steve. He'd been tall, and strong, and relatively healthy already, and Hydra’s bastardized serum needed only target his mind and senses. But not Steve. For Steve the change had been too extreme. And it had gone wrong.

_The serum had gone wrong…_

But the agents didn't stop. They didn't let up, or transport Steve's tortured body any more gently, and Bucky's stomach plunged as they dragged them both into a room Bucky would always fear no matter how many times they made him forget

The wiping chamber sprawled before them as the door was opened. It was gaping, and gray with tables of instruments and digital read outs of data. The floor was a harsh, sterile white. And in the middle of the room... _the chair._ The chair stood, malicious- and solitary in the very center of the floor, and an instinctive terror twisted in Bucky’s gut. He pulled his head back like a spooked animal. His feet scuffed frantically against the linoleum, his eyes widening as his body began to shake, his soul sick with fear. And for a second, everything else was gone.

_They were putting him back in the chair._

_They were going to wipe him. Hurt him._

_God- please no-_

Suddenly Steve’s ravaged body was thrown limply into the chair with a sick _thump_.

Bucky startled. He jerked, his attention snapping out of the spiralling pit of terror, his eyes darting as he reoriented himself. And suddenly Bucky realized that this was worse than being wiped. This was worse than having his mind scoured out of his head. It was so, _so_ much worse.

_Because they were going to wipe Steve._

_His_ Steve, his beautiful, broken Steve slumped in the chair- limp and whimpering. His skin was slick with sweat, and blood, his face ashen, and his heavily muscled chest heaved in ragged, pained breaths. And ever so slowly, his head rolled to the side, eyes cracking open.

Bucky’s breath caught in his lungs.

If he’d had any lingering doubts that this tortured creature was Steve, they were suddenly yanked away, despair rushing in to fill the gaping hole in his chest. His face was almost same. Not entirely, but _almost_. His cheeks were sunken, and gaunt- a man on the brink of starvation despite his muscle- There was another one of those horrible tears in his skin across the right side of his jaw. His sclerae were woven with blood. But his bone structure was the same, and past the blood, his eyes were still blue…. He stared up at Bucky, and only an animalistic whimper fell from his cracked lips.

“ _Steve-_ ” Bucky whispered, lurching forward against his guards, pressing towards him. He looked bad...he looked so hurt, and scared, and...and Bucky was afraid he was going to lose him.

Bucky's eyes snapped up, raw desperation surging through him as his gaze locked on the Director, his expression turning pleading. “ _Please-_ ” he begged raggedly. “Please-something's wrong with the serum. You have to do something- H- he’s hurt- he’s-”

“ _He'll adjust._ ” Pierce said coldly as though Steve were simply managing growing pains rather than trauma and agony in every single cell of his body. The Director’s pale, dead eyes turned to Steve, surveying him as the technicians strapped him into the chair. He watched with only blank impartiality, and Bucky felt his stomach flip nauseously as they pressed a mouth guard between his teeth, Steve keening in pain around it. Pierce nodded his approval, his soft, aged hands clasped loosely behind his back. “He just needs a little more maintenance.” The Director murmured, absently turning Steve’s face towards him, before letting it fall again, looking down with distaste at the blood on his fingers. “This is all a psychosomatic response.” He explained cooly. ”He's reacting instinctively because he believes he _should_ still be in pain from the transformation, but once he's wiped, it will all disappear...”

Bucky felt the nausea inside of him surge.

 _How could he say that?_ How could he look at a man so clearly in agony and call it _psychosomatic?_ And Bucky felt his entire body go numb with sick realization…

He wasn't going to take care of him...He wasn't going to test what was wrong- revise it- _fix it-_ find a way to stop the pain. He wouldn't even perform a mercy killing.. _.put his beautiful Steve out of his anguish…._

No.

Instead of fixing the damage his twisted, bastardized serum had caused, he was going to wipe Steve so he couldn't complain about it. Director Pierce was going to have him conditioned and trained to ignore the bone deep agony. He was going to make speaking against his condition a punishable action, and then...he’d smile with those cold dead eyes and murmur a _‘Didn't I tell you it was all in his head?’_

He was going to make Steve a shell.. _.and leave him in pain._

“Dr. Bennett,” Pierce addressed one of the technicians, his eyes falling to Steve, who’s head swayed numbly, mouth crammed full of the hard, plastic guard, something sticky, like mucus and blood clumping his lashes together. Glancing away from the tortured thing he’d created, Pierce gave the technician a nod. “Start the process.”

The technician nodded. The agents instinctively gripped Bucky’s harder. And at the touch of a button, the chair shifted, and Bucky’s heart turned to lead. With a sinister, mechanical hum the metal vice lowered, swiveling to adjust, and suddenly clamped down around Steve’s skull.

Steve’s body jerked, his lung hitching in an aborted sound before his eyes flashed wide. And suddenly, a scream ripped from the depths of his throat.

He arched in the chair, Bucky biting back an anguished cry as Steve’s body convulsed and twisted, shuddering under the effect of the voltage being sent coursing through him. He writhed in the chair, screaming around the mouthguard, choking- spasming. And all Bucky could do was watch. He watched in helpless, tortured agony as they ripped Steve apart. His own throat ached from screaming protests, his cheeks wet as he lurched and twisted against the agents holding him, watching in horror as his beautiful, helpless Steve was subjected to the same agony that haunted Bucky’s nightmares- as they dragged him into the same hell they’d dragged a screaming James Barnes into decades ago.

They were hurting him.

Bucky was losing him.

_It felt like it went on forever._

Abruptly, the chair hissed. The screaming broke off with a ragged whimper and the vice slotted apart mechanically, lifting from around his skull.

Steve slumped forward, the smell of burnt flesh and singed hair filling the stale air, and he shuddered, his body lurching. A second later, his throat convulsed, Steve’s blood-woven eyes flashing open in a moment of agonized panic before he coughed hard, spitting out the mouth guard and vomiting. The thin bile spilled down his chin and chest, over the tattered, constricted remains of his blood-soaked sweatpants. His mouth was slack, strings of saliva and mucus dripping from his lips… And Steve hung there against his restraints, shuddering- swaying.

Bucky was too horrifed to even speak as the Director slowly strolled back over, looking increasingly disgusted by Steve, his lip curling a little at the blood, and mucus, and vomit. But he reached out regardless, taking his short hair in his grip, and tipping up his face. “Look at me.” He ordered lowly, his voice deceptively soft, and Steve blinked in numb agony, cold tears spilling down his cheeks. Pierce tipped his head to the side. “Tell me who you are.”

Steve coughed weakly, another bitter mouthful of saliva and bile trickling from his lips, his face white with pain. “S…” He coughed again, a breaking whimper catching on the tail of the actions. His expression twisted, his mouth gaping for heavy, soundless second.

_“S...teve….”_

Pierce stared at him, and then something that could only be described as fury flashed across his aged features. He shoved Steve’s head down, whipping back around towards the technicians with dark, threatening eyes. “Would _anyone-_ ” He spat coldly. “Like to explain to me why the wipe was unsuccessful?” He asked his tone like ice and venom, his feet carrying him towards the nearest tech.

“Sir- this take time.” The man protested levelly. “Records from the Asset’s earliest wipes said he needed _a dozen or more_ over the course of several _months_ to completely erase all traces of former identity. Rogers will need time. It’s a process.” He insisted, trying to defuse the Director’s accusations, but Pierce’s eyes bored levelly into his.

“Seventy years ago maybe…” He said, low, and soft, and dangerous. “But our technology has improved. And while _we’ve_ made incalculable advances- extreme enough that we were able to go back through the very fabric of time… _You’ve_ made excuses.” His words were a poisoned barb, his eyes threatening violence. The technician’s expression wavered. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses…” He breathed softly, giving him a nod. _“Wipe him again.”_

“We can’t predict what a second wipe this soon would do to his psyche...” He tried feebly, one last time. But the Director’s stare was like ice, and haltingly, the technician’s eyes flitted back to his team. Letting out a reluctant breath, he dipped his head in a nod.

Off to the side, still bound, and restrained, Bucky heard the chair whirring, and his head snapped up. The color drained from his face. Horror forced its way up his throat, and Bucky lurched forward, a wordless scream of terror, and rage ripping from his throat as Steve’s limp head was righted, and the vice clamped back down around it.

If the first wipe had been bad- if the sounds of his screams from within the chamber had made him sick before, it was _nothing_ compared to sound that ripped from Steve’s very _soul_.

His throat was torn and bleeding from the ceaseless, agonized screaming, and the sound that escaped was almost all stranged air. It was nearly soundless, cracking with pitching bursts of audible, tortured screams that broke back off into near silence while his jaw hung slack, blood dripping from his mouth. He choked and gagged, his body beginning to spasm. He was breaking apart. He was coming undone.

And it was more than Bucky could stand.

Pinned beneath the weight of a half dozen guards, Bucky twisted his metal arm, the cuffs biting deep into the flesh of his right wrist. He could feel his bones grinding together. The chain strained. Blood soaked into the back of his shirt.

And suddenly, the chain _snapped_.

Bucky wrenched under the guards, his left hand snapping out to grab the grip anchored to his shoulder, and he twisted, crushing bone within metal and grabbing higher to _hurl_ the guard over his shoulder. _One_ . His arm struck another guard in the throat, shocking him still as he dragged himself to his feet and sent him hurling into a second. _Two. Three._ Bucky’s hand whipped out, grabbing hold of a throat, as his metal hand seized the gun on the agent’s hip. Three shots.

_Four. Five. Six._

Suddenly unrestrained, Bucky lunged at the chair. He grabbed the vice, the sharp edges cutting deeply into the fingers of his right hand as he wrenched it apart, for moment, feeling the horrible pulse of electricity racing through him- pandemonium surround him- before he tore the vice from around Steve’s head.

He whipped back around, shooting blindly at anyone who’d lunged for him, and hearing cries of pain and alarm shattering the air. Below him Steve was trembling, his mouth hanging open as raw, gagging chokes of anguish slipped his swollen lips. Bucky would have precious few seconds to try and free him.

Shooting blindly once more, Bucky dug his metal fingers into the cuffs holding Steve’s right wrist down. He could feel his arm heating with the strain. He could feel the plates bucking in his fingertips. _And suddenly, all hell broke loose._

The right cuff _cracked_ open.

Brock Rumlow lunged at Bucky with bared teeth the stun baton in his hand crackling with voltage.

And suddenly _, Steve moved._

His head snapped up, his eyes blank, and feral, pupils constricted to ragged point in the centers of his blood-woven eyes. Lurching like a thing possessed, Steve lashed out from where he was bound, his free arm striking Bucky hard enough to hurl him across the room sending him crashing into a table full of instruments.

Bucky’s back struck the leg _hard_ , an involuntary cry of pain wrenched from his lips at the unexpected blow. Of every threat in the room- he hadn’t thought _Steve-_ Shock, and pain flashed through Bucky’s body, a spasm running up his spine as he scrambled up in just enough time to hear Steve’s wrist _break_ as he pulled out of the second cuff.  

And in an uncontrolled movement of blind rage, Steve threw himself at Rumlow.

He crashed into him, technicians scattering everywhere as Steve straddled him. He bore down on the man who’d kidnapped and terrorized him- who’d restrained, and hurt, and dragged him through the daily horrors of the experimentation. But staring down at him with glazed eyes, and blood on his mouth, Steve didn’t remember any of that. There was no thought. No memory. Just _rage_. Just rage and a bone deep hatred. And Steve’s hand suddenly curled around his throat, baring his entire weight down on Brock’s neck.

Rumlow’s eyes flashed, his breath hitching in an aborted gasp as he realized he had _seconds_ under the concentrated weight of Steve’s body, and his hand fumbled down to his gun. Steve’s gaze snapped down, his opposite hand jerking before Rumlow pressed upward, and _fired_.

The shot _ripped_ through Steve’s side, his body lurching, elbow buckling. Steve choked out a cry, his hand slipping from his throat.

And suddenly, Steve reached down, and grabbed the gun, forcing it into Rumlow’s mouth, _and emptying the clip._

Five shots shattered the air. The first was enough, blowing a hole in Rumlow’s skull. But Steve kept pulling the trigger. _Again,_ and _again_ , quaking with rage as he shot up into his head until the linoleum floor was shattered, the back of Rumlow’s head was blow out with exit wounds, and the gun clicked in his hand. _Again, and again._

And for a fraction of a second, Steve stared down at the man he’d killed, and a tiny part of the boy he’d been before all this turned nauseous with horror.

But then the blind rage swept back through his tortured body and Steve lunged to his feet.

Bucky had never seen anything like it. He lay- slumped on the floor- half for the pain- half for fear. _He’d never seen anything like him._ Steve was like an animal. All power, and no finesse. He wasn’t trained the way Bucky had been, he didn’t know how to use his strength- his _body_. But he wasn’t stopping.

Steve tore into anyone who came close to him, twisting a technician’s head full around, slamming another’s so hard into the corner of a table that it split open, the corner deforming the back side of the skull. He broke a man’s spine. His eyes were glazed, and manic. He was a being of pure terror, and rage, and _pain_ . And he was going to kill _anyone_ who touched him.

Some of the technicians had fled, the agents all trying to either incapacitate, or kill Steve. One grabbed Director Pierce’s arm, dragging him towards the door on the far side. And abruptly, the blind, disconnected rage Steve had felt staring down at Rumlow surged through him again, the edges of his vision darkening.

 _Him_.

 _He_ was the source of this.

_He needed to die._

The one agent unoccupied with taking Steve out pushed the Director along, trying to shield his body, when suddenly, a pistol cracked across the back of his skull. The guard dropped with a cry, his body curling with pain, before a hard heel came down on his temple- pressing for just a second, before the entirety of the man’s weight bore down, and his skull _crushed_.

Pierce whipped around, and his lungs surrendered their air in a heavy _whoosh_ as a hand like iron plowed into his soft stomach. With the Director still doubled over his fist, Steve grabbed his shoulder with the opposite hand ignoring the throbbing in his broken wrist as he slammed him back against the wall, the man’s glasses flying from his face and his head smacked against the concrete. And suddenly, the Director found himself facing the thing he created. He found himself pinned to the wall by a heaving, manic creature with blood dripping from his hands and splattered across his face. He found himself staring at a figure with lips pulled back in a snarl to reveal blood slicked enamel, and eyes saturated with rage.

Pierce dragged in a rattling breath, staring into Steve’s contorted face, his hand easing up to curl over Steve’s forearm, as though to coax it down. “ _Captain…_ ” He ordered lowly, his eyes level, and diplomatic. “You’re experiencing some distress, and confusion...let me help you.” Pierce said, his lips twitching into a shaken replication of his politician's smile. “We’ll make all the discomfort go away…. You’ll be healthy, and at peace.” He tempted lowly. _“We’ll give you order.”_

Suddenly, Steve grabbed his head and _bashed_ it against the wall.

Pierce let out a breaking noise, his vision darkening as he felt blood trickling down the back of his neck. And as their eyes met, Steve grabbed the Director’s head in both hands and smashed it again.

A raw scream of rage tore from Steve’s lips, his body on autopilot, his arms dragging the man towards him and slamming his head back against the concrete wall, again and again. _Drag. Slam. Drag. Slam. Drag. Slam._ His knuckles scraped open against the concrete. His nails broke, his hands bruising. _Drag. Slam. Drag. Slam._

Steve was sobbing.

The Director's hand had slipped from his forearm, hanging limply now.

The head in his hands was nothing more than a white, lifeless face. The back obliterated- the skull and gray matter dropping in slick, bloody chunks to the ground.

Pierce had done what no one else in the room had managed. For even a moment _, he’d stopped Steve._ For even a moment, Steve had stared at him with wide, feral eyes while he’d spoken, and the remaining agents had moved in towards him.

_But Steve wasn’t alone._

As his pitching scream of animalistic rage had shattered the room, Bucky had lunged to his feet, seizing a weapon, and efficiently putting down every other breathing thing in the room. Which left _Steve_ . _Heaving_ . _Shuddering_. Clutching what was left of the dead Director’s head between his hands. And cautiously, Bucky slipped close.

_“Steve?”_

The second the word slipped his mouth, Steve whipped around. His blood slicked hands flashed out, and Bucky felt a surge of instinct and fear as Steve grabbed his neck, slamming him against the wall in the smear of Pierce’s blood.

And for a horrible second, Bucky’s gun was against Steve’s heart. Steve’s hands were around Bucky’s throat.

Steve started at him, his pupils constricted blindly, his teeth bared. And suddenly, he blinked. The rage cracked, and Steve’s expression suddenly shattered with the bone deep agony that plagued him. His lips parted, the rage sucking away into an endless vacuum of agony, and thin, cold trails of tears slipped down his sunken cheeks.

“I-it _hurts…”_

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, Steve’s hand still tight around his throat- but like it had frozen there- like he’d just forgotten. And Bucky swallowed hard, his hand wavering as he lowered the gun. _“I know…”_ He breathed carefully, knowing Steve was still volatile….he’d just witnessed him killing a dozen or more agents, and the very _Director_ of Hydra with his bare hands. Steve was dangerous, but Bucky would rather run the risk of losing his life to him, than run the risk of killing Steve. _He couldn’t do that._ He could _never_ do that. So Bucky surrendered his safety to him, and let the gun slip from his hands.

“I won’t hurt you…” Bucky whispered his eyes locked on Steve’s, conflict warring behind his eyes. Bucky didn’t know what the second wipe had done to Steve, but it hadn’t been good. He looked... _unhinged…_

“Steve…” Bucky soothed, keeping his eyes on him. “It’s time for us to go...just like we planned… We’re going to get out of here, _and no one will hurt us anymore…”_ Bucky murmured, recalling for him a daydream he wasn’t even sure he remembered.

Steve’s eyes flashed. His brow drew, eyes darting back and forth in an expression something like panic. Because he _remembered_ ...but at the same time, _didn’t_.

Bucky had been wiped carefully- procedurally for _months_ until his memories were gone. Were his past life a painting on glass, it would have been as if it was wiped away until there was no trace of paint left.

_Steve’s had been shattered._

The second wipe had _exploded_ every memory of Steve’s life into viciously serrated shrapnel, all heaped together in a gigantic pile of shards that hurt to touch. Everything was there, but _lost_ , and inaccessible, and so hopelessly, _hopelessly_ mixed. Steve remembered an image of a needle pushing into the back of a thin hand- a boy grinning- a half eaten apple- and a little cabin near a lake as if the images belonged together. He remembered a beautiful nurse with blond hair like his- the biting pain of careless clippers- and a scream he thought was his own.

_Nothing made sense._

Nothing connected and trying to remember was like hurling his entire body into that mountain of shattered glass.

Steve keened, his brown twisting, hand tightening around Bucky’s throat- an instinct- a response to the pain his words had caused.

Panic flared in Bucky’s chest, his eyes flashing wide. But it was the flesh hand he placed over Steve’s, rather than the metal to pry it away: _a comfort, rather than warning._ Bucky swallowed under the tightness, his lips parting in a shuddering breath as his thumb rubbed over the backs of Steve’s knuckles. _“It’s okay…”_ He breathed in a strangled tone, feeling Steve’s fingers beginning to twitch, and loosen, despite the suspicious confusion and hurt twisting his expression. “It’s okay...let’s leave…” Bucky murmured, purging any trace of suggestion that this was something he should already know. “Let’s leave...get away from here together, a-” Bucky’s voice tightened, his eyes meeting Steve’s and seeing only pain and fear. The rage was fading, but he left behind exaggerated traces of who Steve used to be: Just a scared kid who didn’t understand why everything hurt… Bucky swallowed, and made his promise.

_“And I promise...I’ll find a way to make the pain stop…”_

For just a moment, Steve's eyes flashed with dark, brutal suspicion. For a splintering second, Bucky’s raw, desperate expression phased into the Director’s strained, political smile, his lips forming sugared, empty promises. Steve’s hand tightened, Bucky’s throat constricting with fear-

And suddenly, Steve crumbled.

His hand went slack, his body slipping forward, and Bucky found himself pinned against the wall under Steve’s bulk, his too broad shoulder crushing against his own, his too muscular arms slipping around his waist. And slowly, Steve turned his face into Bucky’s neck, shuddering as a sob broke from his cracked and swollen lips.

_It hurt._

_It hurt. Everything hurt, and he didn’t know who he was._

Everything hurt, and his hands were dripping with the blood of the dozens or more men he’d killed.

 _Steve had never taken a life before-_ much less this many, and the crushing terror, and despair, and disgust and horror crashed over him as he sobbed into the neck of a man he barely recognized. _He couldn’t remember his name._ Trying to think of him hurt. But he was _safe_ . It was the one thing he knew for sure.. _.this man was safe._

Erskine’s serum would enhance everything inside of a subject, but Hydra’s enhance only what could be easily used. _Loyalty. Anger. Fear._ Everything else inside Steve had been torn to shreds, leaving nothing but rage and pain, and terror... _and a limitless loyalty_. Hydra had thought to would belong to them.

But it belonged to _Bucky_.

 _Only_ Bucky.

The shattered remains of Steve didn’t even know who the man he was clinging too _was_ . But he was _his_ . Steve belonged to him, and _him_ to _Steve_. It was the only thing he knew anymore.

Bucky wanted to cradle the unfamiliar body, and the twisted, shattered soul in his arms and never let go. He wanted to hold, and comfort him, stroking his hair and whispering comforts into his ear _. But he couldn’t._ Their window was narrow. If they were going to escape, they needed to move.

Maybe Steve didn’t remember the daydream he’d created for them to help them survive the long, cold nights, but _Bucky_ did. _Bucky_ remembered, and he was going to take Steve there. To that daydream where they were safe, and together, and unharmed.

_And Bucky would make the pain stop._

Taking Steve’s bloody, tearstained face, Bucky drew him up, his eyes laced with hurt, and urgency. “We _need_ to go, Steve.” He breathed quietly, his breath on his lips, his eyes bright with keen awareness. “We need to go fast- we need to run. Steve-”

And suddenly, Bucky swallowed, seeing the blank, fearful confusion seeping through his stare, and Bucky felt his stomach twist with hurt. _This man didn’t know who Steve was._ Licking his lips, Bucky tried again.

“ _Captain_...” He whispered, his thumbs rubbing desperately across his cheekbones. “We need to move out.”

Steve blinked. _Captain_ . That was _him_ . And shakily, what had once been Steve- now the Captain- nodded, pushing back away from the wall, from the comforting warmth of the Soldier’s body, and dragged in a heaving breath. “We- need to leave-” He rasped, something like a mimic, his head spinning, his throat aching as he spoke. _Everything hurt. Everything hurt. Everything-_

The Soldier took his arm, _and they ran._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcomed and appreciated! <3


	9. Sanctuary

_ They ran.  _

Bucky took Steve’s hand and they _ran_. They left the room of corpses behind them, tearing through the hallways. Bucky was running on pure terror- Steve on nothing but adrenaline. If they were caught, there was no second chances. If there were caught they wouldn’t be wiped or decommissioned. They would be killed. And after everything they had been through Bucky couldn’t let that happen. 

There were others- agents that Bucky shot as they rounded the corners, dropping them like flies. And with every step he grew more afraid.  _ Steve was fading. _ He was stumbling, and heaving with agony. The adrenaline was fading, and Bucky was  _ terrified _ . 

He wanted to burn the complex to the fucking ground. He wanted to kill everyone that had ever laid a finger on Steve. He wanted them to die. _They deserved to die._

_ But Steve was more important. _

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Bucky dragged Steve’s heavy figure through the network of underground halls, and up stairs, and through huge empty training arenas. And finally they reached the bay. 

Hydra’s bay housed cars, jets, motorcycles- all modes of transport, and Bucky hauled Steve down into its concrete belly, ducking bullets and firing in return as he desperately shielded Steve. He had to make it out alive. Steve  _ had _ to get out of this alive, and Bucky would burn the entire world to the ground to make sure that happened. He shoved Steve into one of the cars, throwing himself overtop of him and yanking the door closed. And as Steve lay, slumped in the passenger's seat, and bullets sprayed through the windows, Bucky ducked under the dashboard, hot-wiring the vehicle with desperate, shaking hands. 

The escape was narrow, and chaotic. Bucky clutched the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip, Steve groaning in pain whenever the car would lurched sickly as Bucky ran down agents without a second thought. He heard their bodies breaking under the wheels. 

_ But it didn’t matter.  _

Nothing mattered any more except for Steve.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky drove for two hours before he felt like they could stop. He wanted to go further- _longer_ \- But Steve couldn’t take it. He needed to help him. So Bucky left him in the car for a few brief minutes while he scoped out a safe location, breaking into a dingy apartment that was sitting empty in one of the upper floors of a cramped tenement building. It was drafty, and dirty, the building significantly more like an extension of the slumps than a reputable business. But Bucky could secure it, and he and Steve could rest there in safety. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky blocked the door behind them, Steve leaning heavily against his side. His too-large body was heaving, his head hanging low. He pressed in against him and Bucky groaned, shifting him painfully so that Steve could slump onto the dusty mattress. A cry slipped his lips, and Bucky’s soul twisted with anguish. 

“I’m sorry-” He whispered raggedly, dropping down onto his knees. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry…” Bucky breathed, grimacing as his hands cradled his face keeping his head upright as he stared up at him, Bucky’s expression written with pain. They’d done something terrible to his Steve...to his light. They’d twisted him, changed him, and hurt him….and it broke Bucky’s heart. “Talk to me-” He pleaded softly. Steve had spoken so little...Bucky couldn’t yet tell what the wipes had done to his mind. “Talk to me...please-”

Steve swallowed, his body heaving in a shudder as his eyes cracked open, his lashes sticky with blood and mucus. And as his eyes focused, they fell on a man he didn’t know or recognize, but a man he trusted with his life...and he didn’t even know why. “It hurts….” He whispered. It was one of the only things he could manage. It was one of the only things he knew for a fact. He didn’t know who he was- _Captain_ was the only thing that made sense. He didn’t know who this man was, but he loved him regardless. He didn’t know where they were, or why he’d killed dozens in blind, directionless rage when he didn’t think he’d ever taken a life before. It didn’t make sense. 

But the pain was a brutal fact. He didn’t know why it hurt, but it did. It hurt, and that was all Steve knew. 

Bucky wet his lips, nodding shakily, his throat in a knot, his hands tenderly caressing his cheeks. “I know…” He murmured reassuringly, his eyes flickering down to the bullet wound in his side. It was already closing, weeping thick, congealed blood as it crusted around the edges. Bucky hoped with everything in him that there was an exit wound. “How does it hurt?...” He breathed softly, shifting, his fingers ghosting over right side of his back until his fingers found dried blood, and his eyes fell on the ragged exit wound. It was the only good thing to happen to them since the serum had twisted Steve. Bucky wouldn’t have to cut him open and fish around inside. “Where?”

Steve was sinking forward, his eyes closing thickly as Bucky moved forward to meet him, taking his weight on his shoulder. “E...vrywhere…” He rasped. Steve’s muscle hurt- his  _ bones _ hurt. Everything throbbed with deep, aching pain pain- the kind that made you nauseous, and dizzy, and...and Steve felt like dying. Death would be a  _ blessing _ , but death meant the man with the shattered gray-blue eyes would be left behind, and that was the only other consistent left in Steve’s life anymore. 

Pain, and  _ him _ . He couldn’t leave  _ him _ behind.

_ He need him. _

Haltingly, Bucky’s eyes flickered around. There was little of use in the apartment. It was mostly empty save for furniture, but Bucky’s mind flashed back to what he would need. Every vehicle in Hydra’s bay was equipped with a three day kit. It had basic medical supplies, some nonperishable food and a blanket roll. It wasn’t much, but it was better than anything he could find in the gutted apartment.

“Wait here…” He said softly, easing to his feet, his hands still tenderly cradling Steve’s face, and the man’s eyes flashed up to him, fear surfacing inside of him, and Bucky drew him close, his thumbs brushing tenderly over his bloody cheeks.  “It’s okay- it’s okay…” He assured him. “I’m just going back to the car. I’m gonna get a first aid kit, and then I’m going to get rid of the car so we can’t be traced back to here, but I won’t be long. _..I promise… _ ” He said softly, his heart aching at the look of animalistic terror in his eyes… This was what Hydra had done to him...They’d raked out everything but the rage they thought they could have used to make him a more brutal soldier- the fear they had believed would make him easier to control, and the loyalty they had thought would bind him to them. His other emotions- his other tendencies had been locked up, or destroyed, leaving Steve to operate purely on the spectrum they had left him...and Bucky realized that this Steve was going to be a vastly different- vastly _darker_ person than the tender boy he’d loved. 

But Bucky loved him all the same. Bucky would  _ always _ love him.

He leaned in, instinctively kissing Steve’s forehead- just a soft, brush of his lips before he moved back. “Don’t move. I promise I’m coming back to you.” And with that, Bucky slipped out, leaving what was left of Steve alone for the first time in his shattered memory.

As he waited, Steve sat on the edge of the bed, his body aching, and he tried to remember why. He felt the bullet wound through his side, He felt the tears in his skin, but it was so much deeper than that, steeping every muscle, every cell in pain. It hurt. It made him feel shaky, and nauseous, and he tried to remember if he’d ever hurt like this before… But trying to remember only hurt worse. Shatter fragments of memory whirled around his mind, slicing bleeding gashes as it tumbled around his psyche like glass in a blender. He remembered being thrown onto a concrete floor- a body too small to be his aching deep in his bones. He remembered sunlight spilling onto a fire escape- the lazy curl of smoke from between very red lips. He remembered a thin gasp of pleasure escaping into the freezing darkness. _And it hurt._

He blinked hard, pushing it back. He didn’t want to remember. It made his head throb. It made him feel sick, and confused, and he reached up a shaking hand, moving to wipe at his eyes before he jerked back, nausea curdling in his stomach at the sight of the blood caked on his hands. Whimpering thinly, the man who used to be Steve sat on the bed, shaking- trying not to move. Trying to ignore the pain.

A short while later, the man with the long, dark hair and steel blue eyes slipped back into the apartment. He held a loaded backpack under one arm, those eyes falling to him with worry, and something else he couldn’t identify. 

“Hey….” Bucky whispered tenderly, setting down the backpack and fishing out the first aid kit. Holding it in his metal hand, he softly extended the other to Steve. “Here...Come with me, I’m gonna take care of you…”

And for some reason, _he trusted him._ Steve...the Captain- Whoever he was now, took Bucky’s hand, soft, and trusting, moaning as he pulled himself to his feet, and he let Bucky lead him into the apartment's dingy bathroom. 

Bucky eased Steve softly against the sink, setting down the first aid kit before he opened it up, pulling out antiseptic wipes and a stitching needle and thread. “I need to close these splits…” He said softly, his eyes flickering with pained concern to the tears in Steve’s skin where the serum had amplified his muscle too quickly for Steve thin, pale skin to accommodate it- where it had torn under the pressure. His eyes flickered up to Steve’s face. “Alright? Your body might heal them on its own, but if I stitch them, they’re less likely to scar. Will you let me do that?” Bucky whispered, his hand easing up to shakily brush Steve’s hair out of his eyes. 

Steve swallowed, his eyes- glassy with pain, dropping down to the needle. It couldn’t be any worse than the pain he was already in… He dipped his head in a shaky little nod.

Bucky mimicked the gesture, nodding softly as he opened one of the antiseptic wipes, carefully cleaning around the tear on the left side of Steve’s jaw. He threaded the needle, and Steve grimaced, his eyes flashing with clarity as he pushed the tip through his torn flesh. He stitched him carefully, knotting off the medical thread and biting it off, his lips brushing the injury in a twisted kind of kiss. 

And then, Bucky set to work on the others. 

There was so many of them...Everywhere the muscle had generated the were tears, and the more muscle, the worse it was. The splits over his pecs, biceps, and thighs where the worst. Bucky stitched them carefully, cleaning the smaller tears over his abdomen and calves. It broke his heart... Hydra had taken his Steve, so soft, and young, and beautiful, and _brutalized_ him in the name of making him a weapon. He was stronger- yes. He was faster, and his lungs no longer rattled- his heart no longer weak. But he was in chronic pain. His mind was shattered, and his emotions bastardized. And Bucky was left just trying to pick up the pieces, treating him with all the tenderness he had left in him in hopes of calling back some shadow of the person Hydra had destroyed. 

Finally, Bucky bit off the last thread with his teeth, rising up slowly from his knees, and taking Steve’s bloody face in his own scarlet stained hands, the two tortured creations of Hydra staring at each other in the faded yellow light of the dingy bathroom. 

“Let’s get you clean…” Bucky murmured, his thumb brushing softly over his cheek, and Steve nodded painfully. Bucky turned, testing the water in the stained shower, his heart breathing a little sigh of relief as it spurted rusty brown, and then ran clean. Behind him, Steve- still shaking with pain- peeled off what was left of his sweatpants, standing naked, and ashen with pain in the middle of the cramped little space. Bucky slipped off his shirt, shucking off his own drawstring pants and coaxing Steve close. “It’s okay…” He said softly, reaching out his flesh hand to him. “It’s okay...I won’t hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you...Let’s clean up the blood…”

Slowly, Steve reached out, his skin prickling with aching sensitivity as he took Bucky’s letting him draw his exposed figure close- letting him guide him under the spray of lukewarm water.

Bucky took the brunt of the spray on his back. Steve was sensitive. He was in pain, and he was covered the injuries and lines of careful stitching. The full force of the spray would only hurt him. So Bucky wet the rag he’d pulled from the first aid kit, soaking it in the water and tenderly drawing Steve close. 

Steve drew in a soft breath, the proximity to the other man’s warm, naked body stirring something inside him that he couldn’t place. He couldn’t remember when, or why, but this felt familiar, and he let his body press softly against his, the water trickling down between them. This was good. This was safe. 

Bucky eased up the saturated rag, wiping it tenderly over his brow, and cheeks, and the corners of his eyes. He washed away the blood, and the gummed up mucus that crusted his lashes together. He rinsed the rag, softly cleaning Steve’s mouth, and chin, washing away the dried blood and vomit, and cleaning softly down his neck. He washed Steve...tenderly...intimately until his body was clean, and the rag lay on the floor of the shower, watery, pinkish blood seeping down the drain. 

Steve leaned in, the warmth soothing his tortured mind, the touch easing his battered soul, and Steve pressed softly against Bucky’s warm, wet body, his hands softly finding his waist, his lips pressing to his neck. 

Bucky swallowed, his breath hitching softly, as Steve’s lips ran along his wet throat, their naked bodies pressed together, Bucky’s hands still resting lightly against his chest. “Steve…” He whispered, tucking his face in against his wet hair, his right arms curling softly around his waist. “It’s okay...you’re safe…” He murmured, sighing softly as Steve kissed his neck. “You’re safe..we’re together now...no one will hurt us anymore…” 

At the tender words, Steve shivered, and Bucky reached up, cradling the back of his head softly as they stood under the warm water. And for just a short while, the rest of the world disappeared. They stood there, warm, and intimate, and close, and breathed each other in. Bucky ran his finger through Steve’s wet hair. Steve softly kissed up Bucky’s throat- knowing only that he was safe to do so. Knowing only that this intimacy would not lead to more pain. And for just a short while, Bucky let himself believe they could really be safe. 

Slowly, Bucky eased back, caressing his hand tenderly over Steve’s warm, wet cheek, before he turned, shutting off the water, and guiding him out. “Here…” He murmured, holding his hand softly as he squeezed the water out of the rag and began to dab some of the water off of his body. There were no towels, and the blanket in the three day pack should be kept dry. It was the only one they had. So Bucky made do as best he could, turning towards the pack and pulling out one of the three sets of clothing. It would be tight on Steve, but better than nothing. He helped Steve into the pair of pants wincing as he had to pull the tight material over the stitches on his thighs, but Steve bit back any noise, closing his eyes as Bucky helped him back to the bed. 

“I’m gonna bandage your side now, okay?” Bucky murmured softly, easing him down on the mattress. Steve’s body would heal eventually on it’s own, but he should stop the bleeding from the bullet wound nonetheless… Internally...Internally, Bucky had no idea what to do. But he’d promised Steve. He’d promised him that he would make the pain stop, and so he’d have to find a way...he had no other choice. 

“Sit straight…” Bucky directed, his voice low, and tender, and Steve shifted, straightening with a pained gasp that turned Bucky soul sick. His mouth tightened, eyes stinging with moisture as he set to work. He brought gauze, and bandages from the kit that still sat on the bathroom sink, and Bucky placed the pad softly over the entry and exit wounds, taping them down with medical tape, and carefully wrapping the strips of fabric around his middle. Bucky kept it snug, but not restrictive, listening with an aching heart to Steve’s low noises of pain. 

“There- there, that’s all, I promise.” Bucky said, smoothing his hands over his thighs- the thighs that had once been so slim and fair under his touch that one time they’d been allowed to give themselves to each other...their last good thing. And Bucky had to remind himself that the tortured creature above him was still Steve. He’d grown, and his face was haggard, and haunted, but he was still Steve. He was still the scared twenty year old that had been thrown into his cell to be some kind of playtoy until Hydra was ready to use him. He was still the boy so full of anger, and tenderness...so full of love he would give himself to him even when Bucky didn’t remember the memories he tried to softly recount to him...that he would choose him despite the fact that Bucky was a stranger to him now...that he would offer him tenderness, and love, and the luxury of his choice... 

But now, Bucky wasn’t sure how much Steve remembered of being that person. 

His eyes had grown glassy, and distant, his stare dim as his hands rested softly on Steve’s legs, and Bucky took in a sharp breath of surprise as Steve’s hand touched softly over his wet hair. He blinked, looking up at him.

Steve’s gaze lingered, ragged, and confused on his face, staring at him like he could unravel his mystery with his eyes alone. “Who are you?...” Steve whispered softly, looking down at him, and Bucky felt his heart break as his fears were confirmed. Steve didn’t know him anymore, even though his touch was still as tender as a lover’s.

Bucky reached up, his hand folding softly over Steve’s drawing it down so his could press his cheek into his palm. “I’m Bucky…” He said softly. “I’m Bucky, and I don’t know much about myself...or about you….but I love you.” He breathed “And I’m going to take care of you…”

Steve stared down at him, his throat knotting as he swallowed. The man with the dark hair, and gray-blue eyes...Bucky. Bucky who loved him. “And….who am I?” He asked carefully, because Bucky telling him hurt so much less then trying to search for the answer in the tattered remains of his own mind. 

“You’re Steve…” Bucky said quietly, looking up to him, and meeting his eyes, his hands still holding Steve’s to his cheeks. “You loved me too…” He murmured, and even as the words slipped his lips, Steve nodded. 

“I...know?” He didn’t. He didn’t know, but he  _ felt _ . The loyalty that Hydra had left behind was a gateway, and through it, a little of the love that they had burned out of him could slip back through. He felt it, looking at Bucky. He felt that he had loved him, even if he couldn’t rationalize it in his mind. Steve drew a shaky breath, drawing Bucky up a little closer, the dark hair man easing higher on his knees and Steve framed his face it both hands. “I know…” He said again, trying to make himself more certain- trying to translate the feeling into fact. And as he did something else- twisted, and mangled, but still bitterly beautiful grew up from the shattered graveyard of Steve’s memories. He wet his lips, his heart aching inside of him. “You….you belong to me, a-and, I...I belong to you.” He said quietly, because belonging was an easier notion to settle in his twisted heart and mind than love was. “We….we belong to each other.”

Haltingly, Bucky nodded, his mouth dry, his eyes fixed on Steve’s face like he’d never seen anything like him before. And he could do that...he could belong to Steve. Steve could belong to him. Bucky had belonged to Hydra for so long that the thought of existing outside of another’s control felt wrong, and terrifying, and dangerous. Any sane, unaltered human could see the dynamic was treading delicately on the line between love and abuse. Belonging was a dangerous concept to apply to another person- another soul...But it was all they knew. Belonging to another force was all Steve and Bucky knew, but...belonging to each other pulled the dynamic into a delicate equilibrium. It wasn’t perfect, or undoubtably healthy...but it was the best they could do. It was the best their shattered souls could manage.

“Yeah…” Bucky said quietly, reaching up to cradle his Captain’s face in return, his hands soft on his cheeks. “Yeah...we belong to each other...not Pierce- not Hydra….I’m yours, and you’re mine...forever. No one will hurt us- or own us anymore.”

Steve nodded painfully. “And- you love me.” He reminded himself softly, and Bucky’s mouth formed a tender smile. 

“I do…” He said softly, easing up closer, nuzzling tenderly against his face, his lips caressing Steve’s. 

“And...I love you…” Steve said, again, a caution reminder, settling the knowledge in his mind and knowing it was right. Bucky was the only right thing in his life anymore. And as Bucky nodded, his lips brushing his, Steve felt a tiny piece of himself slip back into place. It wasn’t much. He couldn’t even place what it was, but it was something. It was a tiny part of his soul- maybe just a fragment of the whole being of love he’d once been for this man slipping back into its niche in the shattered mosaic of his psyche. And suddenly, Steve had one more unshakable fact to base his view on.

_ It hurt. _

_ He couldn’t leave him. _

_ Bucky loved him, and he loved Bucky. _

They were the only things Steve knew for sure anymore, but they were enough. They had to be enough. And slowly, very slowly, Steve leaned down. And with Bucky kneeling on the floor between his thighs, with their faces cradled tenderly in each other’s palms, Steve drew Bucky’s mouth up against his, their lips meeting in a broken, desperate kiss.

Bucky pressed up from his knees, his hands sliding softly into Steve’s wet, clean hair, his soul crumbling with relief, and hurt, and love as the warm curve of Steve’s mouth matched so perfectly with his own. And it didn’t feel like kissing a stranger. Craning up to kiss him- feeling the presence of his solid, muscular body didn’t feel wrong- didn’t feel like a betrayal to the frail little thing that had taught him how to love- who he now had to teach how to love in return. Because it was still Steve. Despite everything- despite his new size, and strength, and trauma, he was still Steve. Even if he didn’t remember him, he was still the boy he loved, because even when Bucky had known nothing of Steve, Steve had still loved him. It was time to repay that blessing. 

Slowly, Bucky eased up placing his knee on the mattress between Steve’s thighs, sliding his arms around his neck as he kissed him. He kissed his love slow, and sweet, showing him every tenderness Steve had once afforded him. He rolled his tongue softly into Steve’s mouth in a slow, slide of wet, and warmth, and as he kissed him, he stroked his fingers through his hair. He caressed his neck and cheeks. Because his Stevie had been through enough. It was time for him to be treated with kindness. 

As Bucky drew back, slow, and gently, sucking ever so lightly on Steve’s lower lip, his thick, plush lashes lifted. 

His lover's cheeks were wet. Steve stared up at him, his hands still loosely framing his neck, but there was no strength in the touch. They just rested there, limp- almost numb- as he stared up at the man who loved him. The man who gave him this- this sweetest of touch, that made his heart pound inside his chest despite the sharp stabs of pain it sent through his tormented body. “I…” He rasped haltingly, his voice stripped from his, rusty, and cracked from the scream that Hydra had wrenched from him. “I don’t...W-what happened to us?” Steve whispered, staring up at Bucky like he couldn’t fathom him. Like he couldn’t understand who had made them like this, and why- why they were only allowed this little reservoir of peace, and love amidst all the chaos and pain.

And as Bucky’s eyes lingered tenderly on his face, he felt his heart twist inside him. Because Steve hadn’t been trained and force fed Hydra’s lies. They hadn’t gotten the chance, so really...he knew nothing. He was a blank canvas, and Bucky had to be very, very careful what marks he made. Because the words he gave him would become Steve’s whole world. 

“Hydra hurt us.” He said softly, his hands easing up to softly drag through Steve’s hair, caressing it away from his forehead. “They took you from your home, and brought you to where we were...where we escaped from, and you found me…” He said softly, continuing to stroke his hair. “You found me, and you helped me remember some of who I was...I don’t remember much, but...I’ll help you.” Bucky murmured, tipping up his face, and Steve leaning up to meet him as he kissed him tenderly, just once more on the lips. “I’ll help you remember who you are, and...maybe I’ll remember more of who I am too, but...we’ll take care of each other, just like we always have.”

Steve eased back slowly, his eyes lifted softly to Bucky, laced with love, and pain and he reached up, taking one of his hands and sliding it down, curling it in his own over his chest. “Just like...before.” He managed, sounding uncertain. He didn’t know what before was. He didn’t know how far back their history spanned. Just that Bucky would never lie to him. 

Smiling painfully, Bucky let his free hand cradle Steve’s jaw and he eased in, softly pushing Steve down onto the mattress, following him down. “Yeah…” He murmured, bending over Steve to kiss him tenderly on the corner of his mouth, the other man staring up at him. “Yeah...just like before. And I’ll tell you everything I know about it, I promise, but...tomorrow.” Bucky murmured tenderly, easing off and pulling the thin, rolled up blanket out of the three-day pack. “For now, you need to rest...we both do.”

And as Bucky spoke there was a note of finality in his voice. Steve didn’t argue. He lay back on the bed, shifting with a pained whimper until he could lay fully across the mattress without his legs hanging off, and Bucky moved over him, carefully spreading the blanket over his battered body. And with Steve settled, Bucky sunk down beside him, and curled in as close as he dared. Steve’s body still felt unfamiliar. He was still getting used to the height, and the muscle, and how their bodies were supposed to intertwine. He knew Steve was still in pain- he didn’t want to hurt him. But Bucky soul ached for the comfort, and he pressed in carefully until his arm draped ever so lightly over Steve’s ribs and he could ease in so that his lips and nose just brushed the back of his neck. And there, they sunk into silence.

The little empty apartment was dim, and dingy around them, but it shielded them from eyes, and kept them under a roof, and away from Hydra. They would have to leave it behind as soon as Steve was able, but for now it was enough.

Bucky lay on the creaking mattress and listened to Steve’s breathing. He listened to the soft, aching huffs that came with almost every breath, and attended to the shifting, and squirming as he tried in vain to find a position that eased the deep, throbbing pain. Each sound- each shift broke Bucky’s heart, but for now, rest was the only thing he could offer Steve. He’d find a way to help him...but it couldn’t be today. Today, he needed to try to sleep.

“Bucky?”

Bucky blinked, Steve’s murmured word low, and ragged, his ribs heaving a little as he tried to compensate for the pain, and Bucky nuzzled in. He softly kissed the back of Steve’s neck, his fingers tracing tenderly over his bare stomach. “What is it?” He murmured softly, falling silent as he waited for Steve. He could hear his breathing- he could faintly see his lips twitching as he tried to find the right words, and Bucky could feel tension beginning to coil inside of Steve until he lay in his arms- tense, and aching, his shattered blue eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“We need to kill them.”

Bucky’s brow knotted, his eyes focusing on the back of Steve’s head, as his love- his light let out a shuddering huff, his skin twinging over aching muscle. “We...we have to kill them. All of them- for doing this to us…” He rasped, his voice caught between anger, and quiet fear. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore. He didn’t want Bucky to be hurt anymore...he was so, so scared...and the only way he could see to change that was to slaughter everyone who’d ever laid a finger on them. 

“Bucky?” He pressed again, quiet, and desperate. “We’re going to kill them. We need to if we wanna be safe, we...we have to kill them,  _ don’t we?” _

And for a long moment, Bucky was silent. He had wanted to escape with Steve. He had wanted a quiet life of safety, and discretion...but the more he thought about it, the more Bucky realized that the two had to go hand in hand. There would be no peace until Hydra was gone. Until they’d killed every last member of the organization that had harmed them. 

“Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, and his heart turned steely in his chest, and he left the defensive fade away. “Yeah.” Bucky said, low, and dangerous, his eyes hard despite the tenderness of his touch as he held to Steve. “Yeah Stevie...we’re gonna kill them. _We’re gonna kill all of them.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated!


	10. Rage and Passion

For just a few short days, what was left of the twisted shadows of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, laid low in the dusty, empty apartment.

Steve healed quickly.

His body was now altered to recover rapidly from injuries- bone, and flesh, and muscle knitting quickly back together. But even _days_ after the initial trauma to his body, the internal pain didn’t fade. Steve started to adjust though- started to learn how to ignore it, but it was always there- throbbing- burning- twisting deep in his muscle and bone.

And it never disappeared.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky’s arms tightened around Steve’s waist, the two of them dragging their weary bodies into the new apartment they now inhabited. They’d left the first behind some weeks ago now, relocating to an unfinished home on the edge of a small town. Following that, they had settled in a hunting cabin, moving from one haunt to another every few days, before ending up back in an empty apartment in a tenement building. The atmosphere was reminiscent of their first location- empty, and dingy. Their situation reminiscent as well: Steve and Bucky- heaving, and covered in blood.

Steve rested his weight heavily against the wall, letting out a huffing breath as his eyes fell closed. Because as Steve had begun to recover, the two of them had begun to execute their revenge, and the bitter start towards a life of safety. Bucky had not been wiped in a long time. And his basis of Hydra intel was broad. He knew where bases were- travel patterns- security codes. Bucky could loosely anticipate the movements and actions of Hydra agents all over the county. He knew they were going to be, so he and Steve could find them, and kill them.

They’d gone back for the base where they had been kept. The base where Steve had been held, and experimented on- tortured, and altered- they had gone back for. They had been prepared this time, and they had slaughtered every breathing thing in the building, only to place explosives in rooms all over the complex, and leave it, flaming, and crumbling in their wake, the bodies of their tormentors burning behind them.

And that was only the first one.

One after another, as they wove their way across the country Steve and Bucky took out bases, and complexes in cities, and towns and every other settlement in the path. They’d left a string of bodies in their wake, and killing no longer elicited the same horror that Steve had once felt looking down at the body of Rumlow- of his first kill- below him. They were hydra. They’d hurt them, and if they were ever going to have peace, they needed to die.

Bucky let out a ragged breath, grimacing as he stripped the sticky, blood soaked shirt off over his head. It had been bad today. They’d almost lost their advantage. Steve had almost been badly hurt, and Bucky hated himself for it. He hated himself for not playing close enough attention to keep them out of a mess- to keep Steve safe. He hated the unnecessary civilian death that had been a messy side-effect of saving Steve, and putting down the poison that was Hydra.

He let the shirt drop, heavy, and saturated with red, and Bucky ran his fingers through his over long hair, looking over his shoulder at Steve, who was peeling off his own soaked shirt, revealing a nasty, blistering scorch mark across his stomach. Bucky’s brow twitched with concern, and he turned, easing closer. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, his eyes softening with concern as he reached forward.

Steve felt something inside him flare- hot and angry, his hand flashing out to smack his hand away. “It’s fine. Don’t touch it.” He snapped harshly.

Bucky blinked, his heart twisting inside him. He _was…adjusting_ to this new Steve. Steve couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help that he had nothing left inside him but anger, and fear. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that he reacted with volatility to Bucky’s concern. But…it was a challenge. It was challenging to learn how to cope with and to love _this_ Steve as deeply and honestly as he’d loved him when he was small, and soft, and tender. It wasn’t his fault. Steve hadn’t asked to be made into this.

Bucky set his jaw, easing forward again. “Let me assess the injury, Captain.” He said levelly, still in the instinctive pattern of using mission terminology. Within the walls of their safe houses, they were Steve and Bucky. Outside, they were the Captain, and his Soldier. Nothing else. Just that, and sometimes it look a little time to fade back into natural affection. Bucky placed his metal hand in the middle of Steve’s chest, holding him steady against the wall as he studied the injury that Steve’s body was already working on healing. And Bucky could feel the tension, and the anger radiating off of Steve’s body.

“Soldier, I told you not to touch it.” Steve snapped viciously, Bucky’s eyes flashing up dangerously.

“Steve, hold still, and let me look at it.” He bit back.

And suddenly, Bucky’s body flashed with awareness as Steve prickled with tension. And with only a second of warning, the horrible- volatile anger that Hydra had twisted inside of Steve flared, and he swung at Bucky. He hauled back, moving to strike Bucky full across the face, and he lurched, ducking the vicious blow and grabbing Steve’s arm with a sharp _clap_ of skin on skin. He twisted hard, shoving forward and _slamming_ Steve back against the wall.

Steve snarled animalistically as Bucky slammed him against the wall, his eyes blanking out with numbing rage as, his other hand snapping up, reaching for his throat.

But Bucky caught it, his metal hand crushing down around Steve’s wrist to stop him as he suddenly found himself grappling with the force of massive muscle pressed towards him, and Bucky set his jaw, shoving back. Steve’s back cracked against the wall, Bucky’s lips pulling back in a snarl. “Look- I _know_ you’re angry- I know that’s not your fault, but don’t you _dare_ take it out on me.” He snapped, forcing Steve hard against the wall, the man heaving, his eyes flashing with twisted rage and helpless pain. And Bucky pinned him there. Heaving. Waiting. This wasn’t the first time Steve’s anger had turned to him, but now, Bucky was ready to make it the last. He had to control it. Steve _had_ to control it.

The tortured man pinned the the wall pushed against him, Bucky’s arms quivering as he pushed his strength against Steve’s, his heart racing. The longer Steve inhabited this body, the more he learned to use it, and Bucky was beginning to realize that Steve was stronger than him physically. Once he knew how to use that strength fully, Bucky would be outmatched, which was why Steve needed to learn to control this violence _now_ , before Bucky was unable to stop him.

“Steve- look at me _right now.”_ Bucky hissed, his muscles twitching and quivering as he fought him back, holding him back against the wall with all his strength. And after a second, Steve’s eyes flashed up, glazed, and blank with directionless rage, and Bucky felt his heart twinge with hurt. “Look-“ He panted. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry they did this to you. We can’t change that, but you _can’t_ take that out on me.” He hissed, his words turning level, and deadly serious as the rage in Steve’s eyes faltered just enough for Bucky to know that Steve could hear him. “Because you’re not allowed to hurt me when you’re angry. If you hit me again, I’m _going_ to hit you back, and I’m not gonna go easy just because I love you” And after a second, Bucky let his tone ease just a tiny bit.

“Cause I _know_ you love me too- but you can’t, Steve. You _can’t_ do that to me. I won’t let you. _Okay?”_ He breathed, his chest heaving, his eyes flashing urgently. “Get rid of it some other way. Run it off. Take a shower. Punch a wall. I don’t care. But you’re _not_ allowed to _hurt_ me.”

Steve’s expression wavered, his strength still pushing against Bucky’s as he struggled against the twisting, coiling rage inside of his gut. He was so angry…all the time. He _hated_ it. He hated that Bucky tried to help him and he suddenly felt himself boiling with rage, and hate. He hated that he found himself looking at the man he loved and wanting to hurt him. He hated it. He hated himself. He hated that he couldn’t control it.

But Bucky treated him with gentleness all the same. Even when he lashed out at him. Even when he tried to hurt him. Bucky _still_ loved him…he still loved him even when he had to physically defend himself from him. Bucky never let him. Bucky never once let Steve hurt him. He always caught his hand- his fist. He always stopped the blow, and fought back, shoved him against the wall and held him there until the rage cooled- until the helpless self-hatred settled back over his soul as Steve realized he’d tried to hurt the only person who‘d ever loved him. Bucky didn’t deserve that. Steve shouldn’t take this anger out on him.

Steve swallowed hard, letting out a shaking huff. He was still angry. Still so, _so_ angry. But he didn’t want to hurt Bucky anymore. Steve’s hands flexed in Bucky’s hold, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus- tried to shed the anger inside of him. But his heart was racing a mile a minute, his blood pounding through his body like ants crawling under his skin. He wanted to move, and fight, and break skin, and bones. He wanted to-

Bucky’s hold eased, and Steve suddenly twisted out of it, turning Bucky and pushing him hard against the wall.

Bucky’s eyes flashed, his body flaring with alarm before Steve suddenly pressed forward, and crushed his mouth against his. He pressed his body flush against Bucky’s in a harsh thump of skin and muscle. The kiss was all pressure and teeth, and tongue, Bucky’s body still tense in anticipation of a blow.

And suddenly, the penny dropped, and Bucky realized that this wasn’t a lash of violence, but a passionate channel of pent up energy and adrenalin. Bucky abruptly pushed forward against him. His fingers curled tighter around Steve’s wrists, his chest pressed against Steve and he returned the kiss- deep, and heady, and rough. And suddenly, Bucky broke back with a huff, his head pulled away, mouth sore from the force as his chest heaved against Steve’s.

“This how you wanna burn it off?” He asked, breathing heavily, his eyes flickering from warning, to something like eagerness, his eyes flickering from Steve’s mouth to his body. As he recognized that this was how Steve was channeling the aggressive energy, and Steve surged forward, latching onto Bucky’s neck and kissing and biting marks on his throat. Bucky’s head tipped back with a huff, baring his throat to him.  

“Yeah-” Steve panted, shoving a thigh up between Bucky’s legs as he pinned him to the wall, rolling his body hungrily against him, and Bucky gave a low, heady moan.

 _He could do this._ Since escaping Hydra- since their last good thing, he and Steve hadn’t had this. Bucky had been distracted. Steve had been in too much pain. After missions, they would wash together, cleaning one another off and touching, and kissing. They would lay in bed and pleasure one another with their hands and mouths as Bucky relearned Steve’s body, and memorized all the new curves and swells of muscles and sinew. But they hadn’t been _together_ like this- And as Bucky felt his stomach flush hot with arousal, his muscles quivering as they pushed their strength against each other, he realized this was going to be a _very_ different experience from the sweet, desperate love making they’d shared in their last day at Hydra.

Bucky rolled his hips down, his cock hardening as Steve bit and sucked harshly at his neck, pushing up on his thigh for Bucky to rub against. He was pushing back as hard as he could, testing his strength against Bucky’s and it made his heart race.

And for the first time, through all the bone deep pain, and the fear, and the killing, Steve thought that there was something about this body that he could enjoy.

For the first time, Steve could challenge Bucky.

Suddenly, Bucky let go of Steve’s wrist, taking his jaw firmly in his metal hand and pulling his face up, catching Steve’s mouth in a bruising kiss, and Steve twisted out of Bucky’s grip. His hands flashed down, grabbing Bucky’s thighs hard and hauling him up against the wall, the plaster cracking as he shoved him back, and Bucky moaned aloud.

His body was pounding with heat, and exhilaration, his heart racing. Steve’s hands groped, painful and shameless at his ass and he rolled his hips against him, moaning into the kiss. No longer grappling with Steve, Bucky dragged his hands up Steve’s chest before raking his nails down the hardened core of his abdomen, Steve growling as he pushed him harder against the wall.

“You’re- gonna shove me through the wall.” Bucky panted, feeling the plaster groan as Steve pressed into him, biting his lip so hard he yelped, his cock twitching in his pants.

“And if I do?” Steve growled, his heart racing inside him so quickly that he dimly realized he should be worried about it giving out. Which was senseless, of course. He didn’t have heart troubles, but there was a vague, nameless concern none the less. But Steve banished it quickly, pinning Bucky to the wall with his hips, and one, strong hand, the other finding his hair to pull his lover’s head back, exposing his throat. He pressed in, biting a beautiful mark just under Bucky’s ear, soaking in the needy little gasp that slipped his gorgeous, flushed, red lips.

Bucky moaned, his fingers curling over the full, heavy swell of Steve’s pecs, his fingernails digging in, metal fingertips pressing small circular bruises. “I’d- _fuck-_ ” He gasped as Steve bit a dark ring of marks over the junction of his neck and shoulder, the deep, bruising pain turning Bucky weak with pleasure. “Fuck- I’d have to scout the perimeter to make sure it wasn’t heard, and-” Bucky’s words broke off in a groan as Steve rolled his hips against his. “And- you wouldn’t want that.” He panted. “Wouldn’t want to have to let me go would you?”

Steve licked his lips, letting go of Bucky’s hair to yank open the front of his lover’s pants, dragging the material of his pants down, shoving it around his thighs as his hand slid under his boxers. “Don’t you dare-” He panted, his hand curling deep into his flesh, pressing into firm muscle, making Bucky groan.

“Then don’t push me through the wall.” Bucky heaved, rolling his hips against Steve, and pushing against the hard, calloused hand kneading his ass, his teeth gritted, face flushed with pleasure.

Steve’s mouth curled into a smirk, and he sucked a livid purple mark on the side of Bucky’s neck. “How about through the bed?” He rasped, suddenly, hiking Bucky higher, grabbing him in an iron grip, and turning him, manhandling Bucky to the bed.

Their bodies hit the mattress with a shuddering _thump_ , Bucky gasping as Steve physically lifted and threw him down onto the bed, coming overtop of him like a prowling animal. And the heat inside Bucky’s stomach flared, his body pounding with breathless, eager heat. Steve had been so frail before. He’d thought for sure that first time that he would hurt him- that no matter what he did to tenderly prep Steve he would have damaged him, and Steve would be frightened, and turned away from any sexual contact in the future. He’d thought he’d harm him, even with all the gentleness he had left.

But now, Steve was stronger than _he_ was- more and more every day as he learned to use to body he now had. He was healthy, and powerful, and there was something about knowing that Bucky wouldn't harm him that erased the element of anxiety that had hovered sickly in the back of Bucky’s mind their first time.

Now Bucky knew he wouldn’t hurt Steve. Now, Bucky was trusting that _Steve_ wouldn’t hurt _him_.

Steve crawled over Bucky, letting out a huffing breath of air as he dragged Bucky’s pants the rest of the way off, shoving them off his ankles and pressing close to catch his mouth in a clash of tongue and teeth. He rolled his burning, muscular body against him, dragging his hands over Bucky’s ribs before dipping them under his own waist band and shoving off his pants and boxers, the movement hurried, and unceremonious. He just wanted Bucky. He just wanted his hot, naked body flush against his- wanted to hear him moan, and Bucky bit back a pitching gasp as Steve yanked off his boxers, Steve rolling their hips together.

“Fuck-” Bucky gasped, his head rolling back, eyes closing as Steve’s thick, hot shaft rubbed against his own, his sensitive cock dribbling pre-come onto his heaving stomach. “Fuck- _Steve…_ ” He panted, metal and flesh hands digging into Steve’s ass, dragging him closer, changing the pace.

Steve growled deep in his chest, sealing the kiss again to muffle Bucky’s panting moans, his tongue rolling, hot, and wet over his. He kissed his lover, deep, and hungry, pushing between Bucky’s thighs to roll their bodies closer together. And then dimly, something hazy, yet urgent coiled in the back of his mind.

He was missing something. He was missing something important.

Steve broke the kiss, letting out a shuddering huff as he closed his eyes, pain stabbing through his skull. He’d forgotten something. Something he couldn’t go on without, and Steve didn’t know why, but it was something so important he knew he had to approach the mountain of shrapnel that was left of his memories. It was so important it was worth diving head first into it and taking the pain just to be sure.   
Bucky blinked, dazed, pounding with arousal, and left disoriented by Steve’s sudden halt. He blinked again, his eyes flashing up. “Steve?” He breathed, his brow drawing concern darkening his expression. His mind immediately just to Steve being hurt- that the scourge across his midriff was worse that Bucky had assumed- that he was hurt somewhere else that he had missed- that the pain that lived his his muscle and bone had flared.

But Steve just squeezed his eyes tighter closed, bowing his head.

He needed it. He needed to find it in the shattered shell of his memory bank, and he needed to get it. He needed it. _He needed-_

And for once- mercifully- Steve fell across the right memory, nestled between images of tortured hallucinations, and a hot pan of sizzling bacon, turned by a spatula held in a woman’s thin hand. What he needed.

_Consent._

Steve needed consent.

The second Steve dragged the memory out of his twisted disaster of a psyche, relief crashed over him. The stabbing pain through his skull eased, and the directionless sense of urgency was married with purpose.

He wet his lips, his eyes locking hungrily on Bucky’s. “I...I remember.” He said haltingly, still breathing heavily, still quivering with need and pent up adrenaline and aggression. But this was more important. “I remember now- I...I need your consent.”

Bucky blinked, for a second, everything stopping. For a second, it didn’t matter that they were naked, pressed flush up against one another. It didn’t matter what the situation. All that mattered was _Steve_.

Above him, Steve flushed, his eyes, always laced with fear, and anger, and confusion, flickered, his gaze dropping. “I remember…” He said again- quietly- hopefully- tentatively- like he didn’t want Bucky to be upset that he hadn’t remembered sooner. “ _Now…_ ” Steve added in an undertone. _“I remember now.”_

And gently, Bucky reached up, his hands moving to softly cradle Steve’s face in his hands. _“That’s good…_ ” He praised gently, his eyes locking on Steve’s, pricking with moisture as pride for Steve’s progress, and hurt that this had ever happened to him coiled together inside of his chest. “That’s good, Steve, a-and you do. _..You do._ ” He assured him, softly pulling Steve down to kiss him tenderly on the lips. “You have my consent. Do I have yours?” He asked. Steve had made an amazing step just remembering, even though Bucky had been willing even before verbal confirmation. But now, Steve had remembered, and Bucky knew it was important to positively reinforce that.

Steve nodded, his eyes lowered as he readjusted the memory in his damaged mind. Each tiny thing he happened to remember had to be resettled, and worked into a new place- relearning all over again. But this was one Steve was glad for.

At the nod, Bucky smiled, and kissed Steve again, but this time, his hands crept down, curling into his ass. “Now-” He breathed, his mouth pulling into a smirk as he looked up at him. “As long as you remember what I said earlier and don’t hurt me, then I remember you telling me you’d fuck me through this mattress.” Bucky whispered, his teeth nipping sharply at Steve’s earlobe, and he felt something shift in the other man.

Steve’s whole body seemed to change, different now from the uncontrolled aggression, and different from the soft, hesitant, almost _fear_ at hoping he hadn’t remembered too late. Suddenly, every muscle in Steve’s body was coiled with purpose, and clarity, and the kind of delicious tension that made Bucky’s toes curl. Steve had a mission. _Bucky_. Bucky was his mission, and he was going to fuck him through the mattress.

Steve gave Bucky’s collar a harsh little nip- as though just to remind him that he was coming back for him before disappearing into the cramped little bathroom, moving with the silence and power of a prowling jungle cat. And in moment, he was back, crawling over Bucky’s prone figure with the little tub of vaseline they had acquired. Just because they hadn’t had sex yet meant nothing in terms of supplies. Stroking each other off felt so much nicer with some form of lube, so Bucky had brought the little tub back for them after a mission.

Now, Steve clicked off the lid, tossing it aside and running his fingers through it, Bucky feeling a flush of heat through his chest, his fully hard cock twitching against his abs. The last time, _Steve_ had bottomed for him- frail, and scared, and eager. This time, it was Bucky’s turn. Steve rubbed the slick petroleum jelly between his fingers, warming, and liquefying it, before he pushed between Bucky’s legs and slipped one finger inside him.

Bucky bit back a gasp, his eyes fluttering closed. Steve worked into him, Bucky biting back most sound except when a thick, heady moan would tear from him when his restrain wavered. And still Steve continued, working until he could take two fingers, and then three, spreading them out to get Bucky panting, his eyes closed, face and chest shiny with sweat.

And slowly, Steve drew out, slicking the length of his hot, thick shift with one hand as he leaned over Bucky, kissing him sharply- passionately, and Bucky craned up into it. He shifted his thighs further apart, heaving needily, his now loosened rim fluttering at the emptiness.

“ _Steve-_ ” Bucky panted roughly, and Steve licked into his mouth, his hardened hands grabbing Bucky’s thighs and spreading them until the muscles strained just enough to feel- Bucky moaning. And then the hot, wet head of Steve’s slicked cock pressed against his entrance.

But Steve wasn’t one for teasing.

Meeting Bucky’s eyes for a fraction of a second- Steve’s gaze scanned for traces of doubt.   
And suddenly, he thrust in, bottoming out in one, forceful thrust that pushed the air from Bucky’s lungs in a gut-deep moan.

Bucky’s toes curled, his spine arching before Steve grabbed his hands, dragging them both above Bucky’s head and pinning them to the mattress. His whole body pressed flush against them, chest to heaving chest, his hips snapping forward, the backboard smacking the wall as Steve fucked him. Bucky rolled his hips up, moaning, and gasping, and letting out deep, gutted grunts as Steve slammed into his body, his rim burning around the thickness of his girth as his body started to adjust.

“Mh- _fuck-_ _Steve_.” Bucky gasped, the friction of their hot, sweaty, blood-slicked bodies against his cock enough to white out his mind with pleasure. Steve turned his face in, biting down on Bucky’s neck and holding- latched there as his powerful thighs coiled underneath of him and he hitched Bucky closer to slam the entire length of his cock into his body.

The mattress creaked, and groaned underneath of them. Steve huffed, growling hungrily as he bit and sucked and nipped all over Bucky’s neck and chest and shoulder, his hands digging bruises into his wrists as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the dusty air.

It was hard, and fast, punctuated with moans, and pitching cries. It was rough, and forceful, and dirty, the two men fucking on the filthy, bare mattress, heaving with passion and smeared with the blood of their recent kill. It was raw, and real. It was hungry, and desperate.

Steve groaned as Bucky’s muscles clenched around his thick, obscenely red cock, his body thrumming with need as he shifted his grip on Bucky’s wrists. His enhanced senses latched onto every one of Bucky’s noises, filtering, and interpreting for anything that sounded like distress. But all he heard was pleasure, and the thump of the headboard against the wall.

Bucky arched, and panted, and twisted under Steve, rolling his hips down to meet his thrusts in vivid, wet smacks against the tops of his heavily muscles thighs. His body was aching, and burning, his heart racing with exhilaration, and delight. “Steve-” He gasped. “God- Fuck- _fuck_ , Steve-” Bucky rolled his head back, letting out a groan through his teeth as Steve bit a dark, bruising ring of teeth marks around one, sensitive nipple, and he purposefully clamped down his muscles around him, pleasuring his lover with his body. “Steve- Steve, _please-_ ” He panted, his whole body coiled with need.

And suddenly, Steve upped the pace. He slammed into Bucky, his desperation pitching. His hands gripped tighter, his teeth clenching as he heaved through them, hips snapping forward to pound into his swollen rim.

Bucky arched with a cry, the building tension suddenly breaking, and he came, screaming Steve’s name in a broken sound of wrecked pleasure.

Steve moaned at the sound, letting go of Bucky’s wrists, and grabbing his hips, slamming into him for a few sharp, rough thrusts more before, his mind whited out with pleasure, and Steve clenched his teeth, his hot, wet come spilling into Bucky’s body. He double forward, his hips jerking in an aborted movement, his lips parting in a choking cry.

And suddenly, Steve collapsed. His body came down over Bucky’s- heaving, and heavy, and warm, and Bucky let his head fall back, his lips parted and eyes closed as he caught his breath. He figured he could learn to like Steve burning off his energy like this.

And for just a few moments, everything was still, and silent, and warm.

And then the bed frame cracked, the lower half of the mattress dropping abruptly enough to jerk both of them out of their post-coital haze.

Bucky lurched under Steve, Steve tensing abruptly, and then Bucky frozen, before a thin chuckle slipped from his lips. “I uh...I see you make good on your promises.” He rasped, his voice a bit rough from the gut-deep moans, and from screaming Steve’s name. Over top of him, Steve was still tense, his heart racing from the unexpected drop, and Bucky eased forward, gathering the larger man into his arms. “It’s okay...” He murmured softly. “It’s okay, Steve...we’re okay…”

Slowly, Steve let out a breath, his eyes falling closed as he sunk back down on top of his Bucky on the slanted mattress, his heart rate slowly deescalating. And after a few moments, Steve sunk into a feeling closer to peace then he’d felt in a long time. Steve lived in a constant cycle of negative emotions- of pain, and fear, and rage. But every so often, there were a few good minutes. And with the concoction of dopamine, and other pleasure induced hormones, Steve figured it was about time for a few good minutes.

He nuzzled in under Bucky’s jaw, softly kissing his neck, which was a beautiful mess of bite marks, and hickeys, but Steve didn’t regret them. They had made Bucky moan- made his face flush with pleasure. He could never regret something that made Bucky feel good. He loved him after all. It was one of the few constants in his life.

Steve wet his lips, his eyes closed as he breathed in the smell of Bucky’s sweat, and the faint tinge of iron from the blood, and he subconsciously nuzzled closer. “That was good... _right?”_ Steve murmured, wanting to double check. He was sure of so little nowadays, and he hated himself more than he could say in those moments when he lost control of himself- when he lashed out at Bucky. Most times, he didn’t realize until after that he’d tried to hurt him. He didn’t want sex to ever be like that.

But Bucky just nodded, smiling as the mood softened and he kissed Steve’s hair. Bucky was learning to love Steve despite the horrible shifts, and unpredictable flares of his temper that Hydra had carved into him, but he loved him like this too. He was softer, and quieter- uncertain. In a way, it broke Bucky’s heart, because it could still be traced back to fear, but it was the gentlest form of the emotion, and if this quiet shyness was as close as Steve could get to happiness anymore, Bucky would take it. “Yeah…” He murmured softly. “That was _very_ good Steve... _You’re so good_ …” He breathed, pressing another kiss into his hair, before Bucky’s nose wrinkled playfully. “But we should wash. We’re both disgusting.”

Steve’s gaze flickered down to the dirt, and blood all over them, his senses attuned to the scent of smoke and ash in his own hair, and on Bucky’s skin. They were filthy, smeared in the evidence of their revenge, and now soaked in sweat and the heady scent of sex. It was time to wash.

“Right.” He said quietly, easing back, Bucky biting his lip to muffle a soft moan as Steve drew his softening cock out of his body. Bucky let out the breath, and slowly followed him up. The time spent under the hot, steaming water would inevitably lead to exchanged kisses, and then wandering, petting hands. Maybe Steve would even take him again in the shower. But whatever would happen, Bucky was looking forward to it happening under the spray of water

He slipped out of the broken bed, his bare feet taking him over to the window as he just glimpsed around the blanket they had hung up to block them from outside eyes.   
And suddenly, Bucky’s stomach dropped.

Suddenly fear coursed through his body, and he lunged to slam into Steve, their bodies crashing to the floor.

And the sniper rifle mounted in the window of the building opposite them swiveled, following the moving path of their shadows.


	11. Cornered

Bucky’s body  _ slammed _ into him out of nowhere.

Steve hit the ground, his spine striking flooring with a sick  _ crack _ . 

His head smacked back against the dusty floor, the air driven from his lungs as his figure was pinned under the solid bulk of Bucky’s body. The warm buzz of adrenaline and dopamine that had so sweetly clouded his mind flushed abruptly from his system to be replaced with cold, sick fear. His lungs froze in his chest, hitching abortively as he tried to get his air back, his muscles coiled as he braced for the shattering spray of bullets.

But after a heavy second, Steve registered that the walls and windows were still intact- that bullets hadn’t torn through his muscle and bone, and that Bucky was still breathing overtop of him. 

In fact, Bucky was  _ heaving _ . His body was flushed hot and racing with panic, the brief glimpse of the sniper rifle burned into his memory like a searing brand. The details of the single, horrible glimpse cut into his mind.  _ He should be dead.  _ He and Steve  _ both _ should already be dead. 

But whether they  _ should _ be dead already or not, they were still being hunted. The realization sat in Bucky’s stomach like a jagged rock. 

_ Someone was hunting them… _

After weeks of slaughtering Hydra agents- he and Steve’s collective body count rising into the hundreds by now- After  _ weeks _ of brutally killing every single living person affiliated with Hydra that they could track down, Hydra was hunting  _ them _ down in return. They’d done too much damage- killed too many- and wreaked too much havoc on the organization that had torn them apart, and now, Hydra had tracked them down. Now they had found them, and Hydra was going to try once again to rip the life from their bodies.   

Bucky let out a ragged breath, sick, and dizzy, and reeling. Steve was stiff, and shaking underneath him, terror carved into every single line of his face, and Bucky realized dimly that they couldn’t just lay here.

The  _ had _ to get out- 

They had to  _ run _ , and hope the sniper didn’t have back up. 

Bucky rolled off of Steve, keeping close to the ground, his eyes flashing urgently with desperation and fear.  _ “Stay low-”  _ He rasped, the words coming out in a ragged breath. “Stay low- Don’t go near the window.” 

Steve’s racing mind latched onto Bucky’s words, the terrified suspicions that his mind had scattered to assemble suddenly confirmed. _ There was a gunman.  _ Maybe even more than one. With terror twisting and writhing sickly inside of him like a living thing, Steve rolled over. He got his elbows underneath of him and shifted along the ground, keeping clear of the window. Reaching out a shaking hand, he seized a fistful of the filthy, bloody tactical pants that he had shed some time ago and yanked them on, seeing Bucky doing the same out of the corner of his eye. 

_ They needed to move quickly.  _

Steve- still on his stomach on the floor, dragged his aching body along the ground, his head low, his weight born on his elbows and the balls of his bare feet. He army crawled across the ground until the frame and the slanted mattress of the broken bed hid him from the sight of the window, and he glanced over frantically. Bucky, at least half clothed now- moved in beside him, his head ducked, his back pressed to the bed frame. Bucky’s eyes were wide as his scattered mind recalculated.    
“We have to get out of here.”

Bucky’s ragged, whispered words went without saying, but Steve nodded anyways, his eyes turned towards him, with single minded focus. But beneath the look of attentive determination and fear, there was something else. The hot, twisted anger at Hydra that had spurred Steve into slaughtering hundreds of agents was beginning to seep up through the fear, his heart rate leveling out as rage driven purpose flooded his body. They had collapsed and exploded Hydra complexes all over the country, leaving all their occupants to burn. They’d hunted individual leaders and operatives down. The two of them had come out, feral, blood-soaked, and victorious every time.

This would be no different. 

“We’ll take them out.” He breathed, his voice saturated with bloodlust, eyes gleaming ferally. But Bucky’s expression didn’t reflect the rage in Steve’s soul- only base survival instinct. He shook his head. 

“We get  _ clear _ .” He argued firmly, his gaze boring into Steve, and Steve set his jaw leaning forward tensely. But Bucky grabbed his arm, his eyes flashing. _ “Think about it- _ They’ve already established themselves in the buildings around us- They may have been watching us for hours already- They’ve got the upper hand before anything has even  _ happened.” _ He insisted roughly, his grip hardening on Steve’s arm.  _ “We’re _ the prey in this scenario, Steve- We just need to get out alive.”

At the refutal, anger flared hotly in Steve’s chest, but he stifled it, forcing his mind to think tactically- outside of the unregulated emotion that had been forced upon him. He forced his mind to believe that Bucky was right.  _ Get out alive. _ They just had to get out alive. If they died, Hydra won. The Captain set his jaw, and nodded, his tactical mind taking over once the unregulated rage had been restrained. “Outside the door- if we go to the left, all the way down the hall, there’s a fire escape on the far end of the building. There may be agents at the doors if we take the interior so the fire escape may be our only shot.”

Bucky nodded, his psyche molding into the persona he’d need to survive this- To make sure his  _ Captain _ survived this. He mentally envisioned what his Captain was telling him. “Four stories down the fire escape there’s a rooftop that can be reached if there are hostiles at the bottom as well.” He said, his mind rattling through the details- mapping out the safest route. “We take the escape and get to the bottom if at all possible, circling left to keep out of the known hostiles line of vision. The roof is only if we have no other choice. Agreed?” He breathed raggedly, looking at his Captain, their eyes locking. 

“ _ Agreed.” _

Steve- the Captain, gestured wordlessly for his Soldier to attend to his orders, signalling him the countdown until they moved. In a few seconds, it would be a mad scramble. They would be running for their lives, and if they were both going to survive, it had to be together.  

The last finger on the silent countdown dropped, and suddenly, the two of them rolled forward, low, and abrupt.

They  _ burst _ through the door, its bulk crashing against the cheap plaster wall with a resounding  _ crack _ and the two of them broke free, tearing down the hallway. 

The doors and branches in the halls blurred past them. The Captain’s eyes snapped around wildly, his body throbbing with pain, and fear, and anger, his stomach twisted sickly as they bolted towards their primary escape. His Soldier tore down the length of the hallway beside him his eyes fixed on the end- On their singular chance at freedom. 

Suddenly the doors at the ends of the hallways  _ wrenched _ open.

Steve lurched violently backwards, grabbing his Soldier by the arm and wrenching him to the side as dozens of armed agents flooded the hallways, guns leveled.

Bucky’s eyes flashed wide with horror, and in a half second of thoughtless action, he grabbed Steve and  _ crashed _ into one of the doors. 

The lock  _ splintered _ the door bursting inward, as alarmed shrieks met their ears, the two escapees crashing to the floor. Instantly, Bucky lurched to his feet, scrambling back and shoving the door closed. He pressed against it, his eyes flashing wildly before it stopped cold on a heavy dresser situated against the wall. Without hardly thinking, Bucky grabbed the dresser, dragging it along the floor and heaving it in front of the door, personal items crashing off its top and scattering haphazardly across the threadbare carpet. And with the door secured, Bucky’s eyes flashed desperately, scanning the room in a moment of blind panic, before they latched on to Steve. 

His Captain stood in the middle of the room, the pistol he kept stashed in one of the heavy pockets of his tactical pants held in his hand, leveled at a target. Pressed deep into the corner of the dingy little apartment, two civilians crouched together, their head bowed fearfully in expectation of the gunshots that would end their lives. The Soldier assessed them in less than a second. 

Women. Young. Barely out of college.

_ Threat level: Low. _

Immediately, the Soldier stepped forward, pressing his hand over his Captain’s to lower the weapon, knowing his fear made him volatile, and unpredictable.  _ “Civilians.” _ He said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes- level, and purposeful. And gently, he took the only weapon they had, slipping it softly from out of Steve’s hand. “They’re  _ civilians _ . We don’t need to hurt them.” He insisted, trying to ingrain that into Steve’s mind. Because there was no need, and Bucky didn’t want him to forget that in a moment of twisted suspicion and fear.  

The Captain blinked, the haze over his eyes clearing as he reassessed the two non-hostiles. He was right. They weren’t a part of this, and he let out a ragged breath to shed some of the tension before his gaze flickered back to his Soldier. His lips parted to speak- and suddenly, his face went white with fear. 

Outside the door, the heavy, shifting sounds of weaponry, and combat boots met their ears, hostile energy throbbing from behind the protective cover of the door. They could see the shadows of the feet of a dozen agents moving under the crack below the door. They could just glimpse other gunmen, now having been radioed to change position, trained on the apartment window, and Bucky felt his stomach turn nauseous with horror. 

_ They were trapped.  _

They’d failed to escape the building, and they were blocked in- surrounded. Hydra cared nothing for civilian lives, so the one piece of leverage they might have had with the two non-hostiles was useless. It was just a matter of time until they had gotten all the manpower they believed they would need, and then they’d break the door inwards, and….and... 

_ They were going to die.  _

Bucky pressed his back against the dresser he’d shoved against the door, staring at Steve. They were going to kill them...they were going to kill  _ Steve… _

The look in Steve’s eyes conveyed that he knew it too…He knew he and his love were going to die- brutally- messily. And he was  _ terrified _ .

Haltingly, Bucky swallowed. If they were going to die, Bucky wanted to be ready. He wanted to have a moment to say goodbye. And there was no need for the civilians to die too. 

Ducking the window, Bucky moved towards the two young women, the one girl letting out a shuddering breath through her teeth and curling over the other like a human shield, gathering her figure tight in against her. Bucky dropped to his haunches, one of the civilians letting slip a pitching whimper of fear. He reached out and grabbed the older girl’s shoulder in a firm grip, pulling her back, and taking her jaw in his right hand.

_ “Look at me.” _ He said, tense, and level, and desperate, the terrified girl shuddering as she opened her eyes. Bucky’s urgent gaze latched onto hers. He leaned close, his teeth clenched, his voice layered with deadly intensity. “Get into the bathroom.” He hissed, hardening his grip to keep her full, undivided attention. “Stay clear of the window, and both of you curl up in the bathtub- keep your heads low, and don’t make a single sound. Wait for two hours after the gunfire has stopped, and if you don’t hear anything moving, then leave. Get out of the building as quickly, and quietly as you can.” He instructed, fearful realization flicking in the young woman’s eyes. “Understand?” Bucky demanded, and the older girl flinched, jerking her head in a nod. 

Bucky released her jaw. “Go.” He said flatly, and, getting her arms around the other girl, the two civilians disappeared into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind them. 

Keeping clear of the window, Bucky stood, his eyes falling to Steve. The movement outside was pitching into a buzz of shifting weaponry, radio static, and low murmured orders. Their time was ticking down. The precious few seconds they had left to live where slipping away, and there was absolutely nothing either of them could do about it.

Slowly, Bucky moved forward, and softly closed the space between their bodies. He drew Steve close, his arms coming around him tightly, his metal hand cradling the back of his head as their bare, blood slicked chests heaved against each other. Steve’s heart was beating rapidly against his chest- fluttering like an injured bird. He was so scared. He was so,  _ so  _ scared...

And suddenly,  _ Bucky had no idea what to say.  _

They were going to die- right here in each other’s arms. Hydra was going to kill them…Hydra was going to win… 

They had taken them both from their own home, and their own time. They had twisted and tortured them- molded them into something new and horrifying. They’d taken their memories and skewed their emotions...and now...now they were going to kill them too… It was a bitter way to end such a long and tortured life. 

Oh but not  _ Steve- _ Steve was so  _ young _ yet. He was so young, and so confused, and in so much pain. He’d never asked for any of this- doomed to this brutal end by a future he’d never even gotten the chance to live out for himself- sentenced to death by a person he would now never get the chance to be.  _ He didn’t deserve to die…  _ He should be home, and  _ safe _ , with his best friend, maybe going to college, starting up a job, or selling his artwork to passersby on the streets of Brooklyn. He shouldn’t have to die here in agony- not like this… Not gunned down like a dangerous animal….

_ But Bucky couldn’t save him. _

He couldn’t help Steve now, no matter how much he wanted to shield him from this. They were trapped, and surrounded, and outmanned, and out gunned...and there was  _ nothing _ Bucky could do to change that.

Steve’s arms twitched at his sides, his lungs hitching a little in an intake of breath before he moved. His hands eased up, arms slipping slowly around Bucky’s waist, before drawing tighter, and tighter, desperate fear and terror oozing from him like a toxin. He clung to Bucky, squeezing him desperately, his face pressed into his neck, his body flush against his. Waiting to die. 

_ “I love you…” _

Steve’s words were rasped into the dusty air- the sunlight spilling through the window in a pool that just missed their desperate figures- perversely warm and bright in the face of the bitter situation. They stood in the shadows, clinging to one another. They breathed in each other’s scents, and soaked in the last warmth before their bodies would grow cold. Steve trembled. Bucky’s body flushed with nauseous heat. The confession hung in the silence all around them, as present as the very air around them.

Bucky closed his eyes, his lashes feathering through Steve’s hair as he turned his face in close. He felt his throat tighten, and then close, and he cradled Steve in as though their souls could knit together.  _ “I love you too… _ ” He whispered in a cracked tone, his fingers curling over his bare spine, his other hand holding his head closer, tucked into the crook of his neck. And Bucky’s chest hitched unexpectedly in a strangled sob. “I love you too…” He rasped again, guilt crashing over him in wave. “I’m sorry...Steve,  _ I’m so sorry….” _

Steve nuzzled in, clinging closer for a heavy moment longer before he pulled back, just a little bit- just enough to see Bucky’s face. He took his jaw in his hands, his eyes stinging, and looking at the man who was all he had left of a life he couldn’t remember. The center of his world. His love. _ His heart. _ In Steve’s memory, his life had been so,  _ so _ short. _..only weeks. _ He’d had only weeks to live when everything before was all darkness, and confusion, and pain. And those few weeks had been so uncertain, and dangerous, and bloody… _.but he’d had Bucky _ ….He’d had his love. And now he and his love were going to die together.

Slowly, Bucky moved forward, drawn into Steve’s gravity, and the hand on the back of his head drew him closer. And as Bucky’s breath hitched in a shuddering little gasp Steve crushed his mouth against his.

It was full, and desperate, and achingly tender. It was broken, and it was scared. 

Steve clung to Bucky’s jaw, holding him close and kissing him deeply, knowing it was going to be their last. Bucky’s fingers dug into his waist, and the joint of his head and neck, cradling him as close as their bodies would allow. He felt the heavy, fearful thumping of Steve’s heart, and the desperate tremor in his muscles. He soaked in the warmth and the sweetness of his kiss, and in his last moments, tried to memorize every last detail of his beautiful Steve. 

The way his long, dark gold lashes brushed Bucky’s cheeks.

The way his hands felt on his body, and the way  _ his _ body felt under Bucky’s. 

He tried to memorize the way he breathed, and the way his heart beat. The way he kissed...the way his own name tasted as Steve breathed it between their lips. 

The sounds outside the door had gone ominously still, Bucky growing sick with fear the quieter it got- the calm before the storm. It was deathly silent, and as their lips parted brokenly, they both knew it was the end. 

_ At least they were together.  _

Bucky pulled Steve’s forehead against his, his eyes closed, cheeks wet. “I’m sorry….” Bucky whispered into the silence. Steve deserved better. He should never have been dragged into this hell. 

Letting out a shuddering breath, Steve swallowed, hearing the silence outside grow even more complete- ringing in his ears- tense, and eager. His lips twitched with unspoken words. His lashes fell closed as two hot tears slipped down his pale cheeks. 

_ “Good bye…” _

Suddenly, the silence was  _ shattered _ . 

Bucky clutched Steve tighter with a strangled sound, his shoulders hunching instinctively to shield him. Nausea rushed through him. His body tensed with terror. 

And suddenly the source of the sound registered in Bucky’s mind. 

Bucky blinked, and his head snapped up, heat flushing through his body. His gaze darted first to the still blocked door with its silent, sliding shadows, before swivelling sharply to the source of the piercing noise. 

The phone on the nightstand beside the bed sat on its base, ringing- loud, and piercing, and Bucky felt his heart speed up inside of his chest. Outside of their flimsy sanctuary it was still completely silent, though the shadows still moved under the door. None of their assailants were reacting to the piercing, trilling, sound, and dimly, Bucky realized that meant- more likely than not- that the call had come from  _ them _ . The phone base was standard to each of the room, just like the bed, and night stand, and dresser where. Which meant its number was catalogued along with the room number at the front desk. They’d found it, and for some reason, they were initiating contact...Bucky just hoped that the last sound he heard wouldn’t have to be Hydra gloating.

Slowly, Bucky’s arms loosened around Steve, his eyes flickering up to meet the desperate stare of his lover. Steve stared back, wide eyed, and fearful, and confused, his gaze darting to the still ringing phone. It trilled keenly in the silence. And slowly, Bucky wet his lips, his hands sliding down to touch Steve’s chest with just enough pressure to ease away. “I’m...I’m gonna answer it….” He whispered. If they were going to gloat...it really didn’t matter did it… But otherwise- otherwise it might just be worth it. Because maybe he could negotiate. Maybe he could get Steve out alive.

Steve didn’t want to let go of Bucky. Nothing in him wanted to let go- not if they were going to die. If he was going to die, he wanted to die in Bucky’s arms. Nothing else would do. But Bucky was insistent, pushing softly, and desperately against his chest, and Steve closed his eyes. He released him reluctantly, feeling like a piece of his soul had been rippled out at the sudden loss of his heat, and the steady thumping of his heart. But he did the best he could nonetheless, trailing close as Bucky ghosted over to the phone. He watched as he reached out- as his shaking hand curling around it and he lifted the phone from the base. 

The piercing ringing cut off. 

Bucky swallowed, and settled the phone against his ear, hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his head. His mouth was dry, his lungs oddly tight. Bucky didn’t say anything- just listened, and wasted his chest heaving, eyes wide.

_ “How many civilians?”  _

It was a woman’s voice- low, and smooth. And confusion and something like hope lanced through Bucky’s chest like a blade.  _ They wanted to know about the non-hostiles. _ He couldn’t begin to fathom why- but for some improbable reason, the agents surrounding them were concerned with whether the civilians in the room with them lived or died. And suddenly, Bucky found himself with leverage to get Steve, and if he was very-  _ very _ lucky,  _ himself _ , out of this apartment building alive. 

“Two.” Bucky responded, his tone flat, and ambiguous.

_ “Okay.”  _ The woman’s voice on the phone said, almost as ambious in pitch as Bucky’s.  _ “Can I get a name? I think this conversation could go a lot smoother if we both know who we’re speaking too.” _ She said as easily as breathing, and Bucky’s eyes flickered to Steve. He recognized this woman’s negotiators technique. She was trying to establish some kind of familiarity. Given enough time she would begin to sympathize, and endear herself to him. She would most likely offer to have food sent in depending on how long this dragged out, and eventually, she’d talk him into giving himself up with promises of security.

_ And then they’d shoot them. _

Bucky swallowed. “One hostage can go free in exchange for one of us.” He said instead, and immediately saw the fear flare in Steve’s gaze. He shook his head adamantly, almost panicked at the realization of what Bucky was trying to do for him, his eyes bright with fear and hardened with stubbornness. 

_ “No-” _ Steve hissed, grabbing Bucky’s arm in an iron grip. Bucky’s brow drew, his stare hard yet imploring. 

_ “Captain-” _ Bucky hissed, for his life not wanting to give up Steve’s name to the negotiator. Getting Steve out was his top, and  _ only _ priority. He didn’t care about anything else. He just needed Steve to get out alive. 

The voice over the phone spoke again.  _ “Let’s go back to something small.”  _ She said smoothly.  _ “What can I call you?” _

This time, Bucky faltered, his eyes flickered between Steve and the floor. Maybe it would make negotiations easier. Maybe it would move things along more smoothly to get Steve out alive. He wet his lips, he heart in his throat. “Soldier.” He responded flatly, his eyes flickering to Steve. “I want to bargain for my Captain.”

As Steve tensed in protest, Bucky heard the shift of a nod over the phone.  _ “Okay Soldier...we can do that. No one has to get hurt here.”  _ Bucky stopped cold.

_ That didn’t make sense.  _

The call- The attention to the hostages- And now this... No one needing to get hurt? That  _ really _ didn’t make sense.  _ None of this _ made sense, and it was sounding less and less like Hydra. 

Why would Hydra care about civilians, much less only two of them? Why would they take precious time to track down the room’s phone number from the front desk to call and bargain if they planned on killing them anyways?  _ Why would they say no one one had to get hurt? _

Bucky felt sudden aggression ripple up his spine. His hand tightened around the phone, the plastic creaking and groaning in protest as he teeth clenched, lips drawing back in a snarl. “Who are you?” He snapped abruptly, his body drawing higher aggressively at the unseen being on the other end of the phone. “Who do you answer to and what do you want with us?” Bucky demanded, his chest heaving. 

_ “Easy,” _ The woman said, her tone deceptively level, and soothing, the rusty alto inherently calming.  _ “Take a deep breath Soldier, I'm here to help…” _

Bucky’s jaw flexed.  _ He didn’t like this. _ He’d thought he’d known what they were facing, and now, it turned out, he didn’t. And  _ that _ scared him almost more than being gunned down. Drawing in a level breath, Bucky closed his eyes, his hand clenching, and unclenching beside him. “Who are you?” He asked again, this time, his tone low, and deadly. The volatile aggression had bled out, but none of the threat. It still whispered of violence under his tone, creeping through the phone's speaker to the listener on the other end. 

And this time, the listener gave a solid response. 

_ “Soldier,” _ She said evenly.  _ “My name is Natasha Romanoff, I’m with the SSR.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	12. Negotiations

Romanoff’s offer ricocheted around Bucky’s head.    
_ One hostage, in exchange for peaceful, one on one negotiations. _

One girl would leave- the younger one Bucky assumed- into SSR custody. Steve- _ if  _ Bucky could convince him- would wait in the bathroom with the other hostage while Bucky spoke with the negotiator on somewhat neutral terms. Knowing the force surrounding them wasn’t Hydra sent a warm little flush of hope through Bucky’s chest, but he still faced this negotiation willing to give up his life to give Steve one more chance. 

He deserved that.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve caught Bucky’s wrist one more time- feverish, and desperate. “Buck-  _ Don’t do this-”  _ He pleaded, his eyes rounded out with poorly concealed panic, his grip tightening. All he could see was the negotiator pulling out a hidden weapon and shooting Bucky unawares- killing him. All Steve could see was his lifeless body on the floor. All he could feel was the empty, terrifying directionlessness of his life without Bucky- his love- his only tether to a world he could no longer understand. 

He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

_ He loved him too much.  _

Bucky’s jaw flexed, his hand curling over Steve’s on his wrist, his eyes flickering up to him. “I’m gonna be fine.” He breathed. “I’m gonna get you out. I promise, just…. _ please- _ don’t do anything rash. We follow the negotiator’s rules, and y-... _ we _ , get out alive. _ We get out alive,  _ okay, Steve?” He prompted, squeezing his hand, his gaze boring into him.

And hesitantly Steve swallowed. He reached out, abruptly grabbing Bucky’s strong jaw in his hands and dragging him in to crush their mouths together- kissing him deeply. His nose scrunched against Bucky’s cheek, his fingers pressing white marks into his skin as his breath huffed hot across his skin. 

Bucky made a low sound in the back of his throat, his hands curling into Steve’s shirt desperately as he kissed him in return. He’d thought he’d already had his last kiss with Steve, and he’d been proven wrong. Now, he still wasn’t entirely certain that  _ this _ wouldn’t be the last one. So he indulged in it- desperately- lovingly. Bucky clung to Steve and kissed him like he needed him to breath, his eyes squeezed shut to block out everything but Steve’s mouth against his own. Just for a few moments-

_ Just for a few moment. _

Bucky drew back with a huff, his eyes still painfully closed, his expression contorted with pain, and the hands curled through his shirt flattened, pressing back. “Go.” He said, Steve’s hold tightening on his wrist. And Bucky’s eyes opened, and he pushed harder against Steve’s chest. “I said  _ go- _ they’re waiting.” He pressed tensely. 

Steve’s expression tightened, but he reluctantly let go of Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky felt his heart wrench inside him.  _ “I love you.”  _ He pressed softly, leaning in just once more to briefly peck Steve’s lips, before he reached past him, his hand finding the doorknob to the bathroom. 

With one hand still lingering on Steve’s elbow, Bucky opened the door, hearing a muffled whimper of fear from inside the bathtub. The two civilian’s had followed his instructions, both girls laying, curled up in the bathtub- clinging close- shaking, and Bucky felt a twinge of pity in his chest. 

He walked over, keeping his footsteps soft, and his shoulders relaxed. He stopped at the end of the bathtub, one of the girls cracking open an eyelid to stare at him through sweaty, tangled hair.    
The both of them smelled like fear. 

Bucky crouched down, making himself smaller to seem less frightening. He tapped the edge of the bathroom with one, metal fingertip to get the other girl’s attention. “Hey...We’re sending one of you out in exchange for peaceful negotiations.” He said quietly. “If everything goes well, the other won’t be far behind, but just one for now.” Bucky instructed, watching the wide-eyed, fearful glance the girls exchanged. “Don’t have all day.” Bucky added, still keeping his tone softened. There was no need to scare the girls further.

After a hot second, the older girl pushed at the younger, hissing urgent little  _ ‘go- go-’’ _ s, while the younger shook her head, babbling feeble protested. But as the older girl pushed her up a little, Bucky reached out, drawing her out of the bathtub and setting her on her feet as she gave a hoarse cry of fear. 

Bucky released all but a light hold around her forearm. “She’ll be right behind you, alright?” He prompted, impatient, but trying to minimize the trauma. He guided her towards the door. The girl’s body language was conflicted, but Bucky just continued to gently push her in the right direction regardless of the ways her feet caught reluctantly, and her eyes snapped back to her companion. She wanted to be safe. She didn’t want to abandon her with their captors. “It’s okay,” Bucky murmured. “She’ll be fine. You’re goin’ free... She’ll be just a little while longer.”

As Bucky slipped out of the bathroom with the shaking girl, he buffeted, his eyes flickered to Steve- desperate, and imploring. “Wait in the bathroom.” He said softly, meeting his gaze. “I’ll get us out of here…I promise...Please just- just  _ wait.” _

“Buck-” Steve protested feebly, just one more time. He and Bucky had already argued about this, and Bucky wasn’t giving. He was going to follow the negotiators terms. One hostage, for a one on one meeting. Steve would stay in the bathroom with the other hostage to ensure they still had leverage, and to ensure the negotiator wouldn’t be facing  _ two  _ super soldiers on her own. And Bucky  _ would _ fight for Steve’s life- for his release- even at the cost of his own. Steve hated that. He hated it, but Bucky wasn’t going to give ground. 

Bucky’s free hand eased out, just lightly touching the side of Steve’s neck. “Please.” He whispered again, swallowing hard. He was scared to death- but after everything Hydra had done to Steve, he deserved to have someone in his corner. 

After a long, agonized second, Steve slipped up his hand, squeezing over Bucky’s before nodding his head. “Okay…” He whispered painfully, his chest tightening, and slowly, Steve eased back. The had to follow the rules. If they followed the rules, they might get out alive. 

The bathroom door clicked softly closed- locking with Steve and the second hostage closed in behind it. 

Bucky eased reluctantly away. Still with a loose hold around the younger hostage’s arm, Bucky moved over to the nightstand, picking up the receiver from where he had left it lay while he procured the hostage. 

The negotiator- Natasha- was still on the line. He could hear her quiet breathing. Tucking the phone in the crook of his neck, Bucky ghosted to the door on silent feet. The girl's wrist slipped from his hand, and as silently as possible, he slid the heavy dresser away from the door, before stepping several paces away.

“I’m sending out the first hostage.” 

The statement was spoken, low, and quiet into the phone, Bucky's heart racing inside his chest. Over the phone, Bucky heard the negotiators breathing pattern changed ever so slightly, her keen mind processing the information and weighing her best options. 

“Alright, we’re ready for her. Are you ready for me to step in in her place?” She asked- calm and collected, like stepping into a room with two supersoldier- two murders- was nothing more taxing than placating an aggressive dog. Dangerous- but a simple task if you knew how to read the behavior and respond to it effectively. And just from the few words they had exchanged, Bucky realized that she knew how to do just that. She’d already gotten this meeting almost entirely on her terms before Bucky even knew what was happening...He didn’t want this situation to escape him any more than it already had. 

“Are you unarmed?” Bucky asked cooly.

“I am.” Natasha said, and Bucky could almost hear the suggestion of a smile in her voice- a delight of challenge she knew she couldn't act on. But it was still present.  _ So very present. _ It made Bucky’s skin prickle, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “ _ Are you,  _ Soldier?”

“I am.” He mimicked, but flatly. There was no hint of a smile in his voice- no thrill of the challenge. Because to him- none of it mattered- nothing but getting Steve out alive. 

“Alright then, everything’s set, Soldier. This is gonna go nice and smooth. As soon as I hang up, send the girl to the door. When she opens it, she goes into SSR custody to be taken care of, and I come in in her place. No weapons. Just civil discussion. Are we on the same page?” She asked, and Bucky felt a thrill of nerves run up his spin. 

“Affirmative.” He said lowly, and over the phone, he hear that almost imperceptible hint of a smile. 

“Okay, Soldier. I’ll be seeing you in just a minute then.” And after a few moments without a response- after a few, long seconds of crackling, white static, the negotiator finally hung up the phone. 

Bucky slowly laid the handset down on the dresser without so much as a click, his eyes turning to the quivering figure of the girl. Keeping his movement controlled Bucky walked slowly across the room and took his place well back from the door. “Alright…” He murmured, his gaze falling on the civilian. “Go on to the door and open it nice and slow, okay?” He coached, the young woman swallowed hard, her fingers flexing fearfully beside her. “Only open the door as far as you need to get out, and then the negotiator will come in.” Bucky wanted to say for sure that this SSR would take care of her, but...he really couldn’t know that for sure. Just because an organization wasn’t Hydra didn’t mean they were  _ against _ them- didn’t mean they were trustworthy. A competitor to Hydra could be just as dangerous...and even if this SSR was in opposition to Hydra...who’s to say the didn’t want the two renegade soldiers dead too? For what it was worth though, Bucky  _ did _ hope for her safety.

Haltingly, the girl nodded, her eyes pricking with tears, her footsteps shaky, and uncertain as she walked slowly away from the soldiers that had held her hostage at gunpoint, and towards an unknown force. Even Bucky couldn’t say how many- if any of them- were coming out of today alive. 

Her hand touched the doorknob, and Bucky felt his heart stall.

It turned, and his stomach twisted into a knot. 

And then suddenly, the younger hostage slipped through. She vanished through the tiny gap, and even with the shadows of dozens of shifting, armed agents hovering just beyond the door it wasn’t kicked in. Bucky wasn’t gunned down in a spray of bullets, and his bloodied corpse wasn’t kicked out of the way of the bathroom door so they could force their way in and slaughter his Steve. 

Five seconds- fifteen- thirty after the door had been opened- after Bucky had been exposed, he was still alive.

And a suddenly figure moved into the doorway, momentarily blocking the narrow space through which Bucky could see the squad of armed agents. He could hear the click of her shoes on the wooden floors in the hallways. His enhanced senses caught a subtle hint of a perfume that smelled like lemon, and black tea. He could see just a hint of blood red at the edges of her darkened silhouette.

His skin prickled- and the negotiator stepped into the room.

The door closed behind her with a soft  _ click _ , and Bucky drew in a tense breath, feeling naked without a firearm. They stood, the length of the room away from each other- Bucky tense, the negotiator almost perversely relaxed. She had shoulder length, dark auburn hair, pursed lips, and clever eyes. Her body was slim, yet built for fighting- the steely tone of her physique apparent even under business casual slacks and a blouse and the bullet proof vest she’d donned over it. Her shoulders were loose, her posture casual. The negotiator tipped her head to the edge of the bed, and the one other chair in the room. 

“Wanna take a seat, Soldier?” She asked, her tone easy, and unperturbed. This woman- with her relaxed posture and easy tone- wasn’t a green agent. She wasn’t fresh or inexperienced. She’d been at this for a long time, and Bucky could see it’s evidence down to the very way she  _ breathed _ . 

Bucky watched her for a heavy second, and then shook his head- a tiny, tense, jerking motion. His cold, steely gaze never leaving her face. She was good. He could see that in her every movement. She was dangerous, and smart, and capable. And Bucky was afraid- Afraid that even with the offer of negotiations, she would be able to manipulate him into a position from which he could be taken out.

The negotiator noted the tiny, tense moment, and shrugged her shoulders. “However you’re comfortable.” She commented absently and, keeping her posture relaxed, she took slow, measured steps across the room, watching the way Bucky countered her instinctively. She moved in a way that he could predict- keenly keeping his comfort in mind. Every gesture seemed to be weighted to defuse any tension. And easily as though she were talking to an old friend, she took a seat on the edge of the bed, and looked up at Bucky, just the corners of her lips tugging into a smile.

“So,” She started, her voice low, and smooth. “Soldier- let’s start by getting some groundwork down.” She prompted, tipping her head to the side. “I want you to understand where we’re coming from. And I want to understand your motivation too. If we can manage that, I think we can all get something out of this negotiation.”

Bucky’s brow drew. It went against everything in him to expose any details about himself- about Steve- about their history to this woman. His memory was so limited- his life dark, and tortured, and he balked at the thought of sharing  _ anything _ about it with her…But he wanted to know. He wanted to know who they were- what they wanted from them. And as much as he despised that, he knew that would take compromise.

“You first.” Bucky said, low, and soft. His hand flexed around the emptiness where he so desperately wanted the safety and security of a weapon. The lack of control Bucky felt was dizzying.  He felt nauseous, even with a single negotiator sitting comfortably on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of the room from him. He still felt exposed- threatened. Bucky shied from the windows even with the negotiation in the room, knowing there could still be orders to take a shot if it presented itself. Her presence didn’t change that bitter fact that if he put himself in their scopes, they would put a bullet through his head. He kept back against the wall, and waited for the negotiator to make the first move.

The negotiators mouth tugged into a little smile. “Alright,” She said easily, setting her weight back on her palms. “Like I said, My name’s Natasha Romanoff, and I’m an agent with the SSR.” She started, watching as her charge- the Soldier- stared at her with bitterly guarded suspicion. “The SSR is an organization that works to ensure the safety of the world’s people. We have divisions in scientific advancements, medical advancements, and defensive forces again malevolent forces of  _ this _ world, and  _ others _ . In short, we fight for the safety and freedom of the people, and we handle forces we perceive as threats to that.”

“My Captain and I.” Bucky said flatly. 

So they were here to kill them after all- regardless of the coaxing words. This organizations had decided they were a danger and had come to execute them extra judiciously.

But the negotiator- Natasha- shook her head. “Not at first.” She said, looking up at him evenly, with no trace of a lie in her expression. But Bucky knew all too well that just because he couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. She shifted forward, folding her hands in front of her. “You and your Captain didn’t become a concern of the SSR until very recently. The SSR used to be just a scientific reserve, and little else- studying in fields useful to military, and medicine… But something went wrong.” Natasha’s brow drew, his expression setting firmly. “In the second World War, another organization sprung up- not unopposed, but the opposition wasn’t enough. They rode on the coattails of the Nazi forces, gaining power, influence, and resources. And before anything could be done, they had bombed cities all over the east coast. It devastated the United States, and allowed this organization a foothold in society even when the Axis Powers were defeated. While the country- and the world was reeling,  _ Hydra _ slipped into positions of power in the form of leaders that the country believed would save them. But by the time word spread that these leaders were Hydra, it was too late. The Nazis were gone, and the war was over. But Hydra stayed.” She said quietly.

Bucky felt his stomach tighten. He was a soldier. A pawn. He knew little of Hydra’s effect on the world beyond his individual kills he’d performed for them. He hadn’t realized how present they were. What happened to shape the world when a force like Hydra ran unchecked.

“Everyone knows of Hydra-” Natasha said. “Everyone has- ever since the second World War, but no one can do anything about it. They’re in the government- the press, the world’s parliament- the police, military, navy. Everything. Every organization with any power is overwhelmingly Hydra. Sometimes, people or organizations can buy people in places of power, and purging them from the system leaves holes, but holes that can be dealt with…. Not Hydra. They are the majority in every faction, and not only would everything come crashing down, but they are too deeply ingrained to allow a purge of the system to happen in the first place…. The SSR separated itself from any government ties a long time ago. Eradicating Hydra has been our primary goal for a number of years, and progress is slow. But there is progress.” She said, her gaze flickering up to lock evenly with his. “Being underground the way the SSR now is, we can do more… _ illicit  _ things that the uncorrupted members of organizations of power can’t touch. For example, we’ve been tracking the movement patterns of some of Hydra’s men and apprehending as many as we can, looking for information, and leverage…until the men we were tracking started turning up dead before we could get to them.”

And suddenly, the gapped in his mind bridged.

And Bucky’s body prickled with tension- washing with heat- because, just as he’d feared,  _ against Hydra  _ by no means meant  _ for them. _ Even to the SSR, he and Steve were liabilities. They were dangerous, and they were in the way. And the SSR was here to stop them one way or another.

Bucky flexed his empty hands, his body coiling, his expression turning cold.  _ “They deserved to die.” _ Bucky said softly, his eyes boring into her, daring her to tell him otherwise. 

But Natasha just inclined her head.

“I won’t argue that. But whether they deserved it or not, they would be more helpful alive in the big picture of taking Hydra down for good. But the two of you?” Natasha said, her eyes flickering to the bathroom door. “You’re killing your way across the country.” She said levelly, nothing other than facts. “You’ve predicted Hydra’s movements more consistently and more accurately that an entire team of SSR agents with decades of research, and you’ve killed more Hydra agents in six weeks than the SSR has brought in in two years. Clearly, you and your Captain are no more fond of Hydra than the SSR is. But when these men die, valuable information dies with them- information that could lead to a collapse of Hydra.” 

“Eventually, your killing spree is going to take you to someone with more power that two men can combat on their own. The president. Governors- Senators...and their men, and their security will catch.you by surprise..and you and your Captain will die, bloody- with a trail of damage as your legacy, but Hydra none the less present….” Her voice had turned low, and serious. Not a threat, but a window into the future, overlooking not the peace he and Steve had prayed to find in the midst of their tortured life- but on a messy death, and no lasting impact on the world.

“The SSR is building our resources, and knowledge...underground- off the radar. And eventually, there will be a coup from the SSR. And society may collapse as a result...But that cost will be worth the freedom that will be seized back for the people from the organization that has been controlling us, and keeping us in fear for the better part of a century… But we need resources. We need information. And those are things we’ve found ourselves having difficulty acquiring now that you and your Captain have entered the picture. The SSR need to put a stop to your activities, and are prepared to use whatever means necessary, but with your willingness to negotiate, that doesn’t have to end in a death.”

The information sunk in slowly, Bucky’s head reeling, although his expression remained neutral. He hadn’t known the extent of Hydra’s influence. He hadn’t known how deeply they were woven into every powerful institution in the united states- their tendrils reaching, in some measure, even into the rest of the world. Bucky rested his back against the wall, watching her guardedly, the phrase _ ‘whatever means necessary,’  _ setting him on edge, even with her reassurance.

But Natasha just returned his gaze, her mouth tugged in a faint smile. “Now…You know my position- the goals of the SSR and mine…. What about you….What are you looking to get out of this?” She asked, her long, slender fingers laced in front of her.

That was simple enough.

“My Captain.” Bucky said simply.  _ “Alive.” _

Natasha blinked. “That’s all?” She asked, the surprise in her tone only very mild, and Bucky’s jaw clenched as he let out a breath.

“Hydra- all of them-  _ they deserve to die.  _ But if my Captain is left alive, nothing else matters.”

Natasha’s expression leveled, glinting with suppressed curiosity. “If you’ll allow the question,” She started, watching him keenly. “Why the vendetta? What pushed you and your Captain onto this...spree.”

And after a moment- despite his better judgement, Bucky relinquished the first real information he’d given the negotiator since tensely giving her his title. 

“We were taken- the two of us- by Hydra. I was taken a very long time ago, my Captain, only recently… They hurt us, and took our memories, and made us into weapons- soldier- _ tools.” _ He said, his teeth clenched so tightly he could hear a creaking in his inner ear. “Six weeks ago, we broke programming, and we ran.” His tone grew quieter, but none the less intense, his eyes boring into Natasha with razor sharp brutality, and in that glimpse into his mind, the negotiator could see what those Hydra agents must have seen in their last moment. A creature that had been tormented for so long that had suddenly snapped and, fueled by rage and pain, turned on the ones who’d held it’s leash for so many decades. “We want peace. And that means that they have to die for what they did to us.  _ All of them.” _

His explanation was nowhere near as clean, and detailed as Natasha’s had been, but it painted a raw, visceral picture in the agent’s mind of the two men who’d been taken and twisted against their will. Turned into killers, who in turn, seized back their own autonomy, and killed everyone who they thought was responsible. Natasha dipped her head in a little nod.

_ “That’d do it to anyone.”  _ She murmured, raising her eyebrows just a little bit, before she rose carefully to her feet. “But the killing has to stop, Soldier. For our sake- for the information we can gather from them...and for yours- for the end you're just not going to be able to avoid if you keep on this track… _ How about this.” _ Natasha lifted her chin, meeting Bucky’s eyes so clearly he felt he had no option to look away- caught by the intensity of her stare. 

_ “You and your Captain surrender yourself into SSR custody. _ There will be a period where you’ll be kept contained until loyalties are sorted out, but then...We can integrate you into our team. You and your Captain know the inner workings of Hydra better than the SSR ever has. Your knowledge can set our work decades ahead- bring the fall of Hydra closer, faster. The killing stops, and the two of you help the SSR take down Hydra from within our system. It’s the only option I see where the two of you come out of this alive.”

Bucky drew in a breath, his chest tight, panic pounding through his mind. Even with Natasha still on the opposite side of the room as him, her presence seemed to slip into his space- into his mind, playing around in his head and tinkering with his thoughts. It could still be a death sentence, but then he understood now that the path he and Steve were on...there was no peace at the end of it. There was no small house in a quiet town. There were no low profile jobs, or sleeping curled together in the same bed… There was no happiness for him and Steve at the end of this... _ Just a bloody death. _

That could await them at the SSR too though- or even just outside the apartment door. All the promises in the world could still end with a bullet to the head. 

But  _ one thing  _ tempted Bucky.  _ One thing swayed him.  _

“The SSR…” He said quietly. “You said, works in science, and in medicine…” And as his eyes lifted, Bucky caught Natasha’s nod, and the curiosity in her gaze. Bucky swallowed, his lips parting as he let out a ragged breath. “M...my Captain…” He said softly, his eyes darting, and then looking up again.  _ “H- he’s in pain….” _

Natasha’s brow drew, her gaze still questioning, deciding the trustworthiness of the Soldier’s statement- weighing what advantage it might put him at if she believed it, and hence, how it could dangerously disadvantage her. She wanted this to go smoothly, but she wanted to come out alive. She wouldn’t place herself in a compromising position if the sudden crack of disclosure could somehow disadvantage her. But the Soldier wasn’t putting on a show. There was no display- no waterworks. In fact, it looked like he was trying to strangle back any possible show of emotional reaction to the disclosure. But Natasha could read the nuances in his expression. 

Bucky started again, slow, and tense, his heart rate escalating inside of him as he entertained the possibility- _ for Steve _ … “If we give ourselves up to the SSR...my one requirement is that you find a way to stop the pain... Do what you want to me, but I promised my Captain I would stop the pain, and...I don’t know how. I-...have no means. No expertise.” Bucky swallowed, something imploring cracking through the steeliness of his expression.  _ “Help my Captain….and we give ourselves up.”  _

Natasha was genuinely surprised. 

For what they’d been lead to believe about the two phantoms that left dozens upon dozens of slaughtered Hydra agents in their wake, was that they were unfeeling. Unremorseful. They had been profiled as creatures of necessity and bloodlust, traveling in a pair only for the tactical advantage it would provide…

But everything Natasha had seen of the Soldier suggested he was willing to lay down his life for his Captain- willing even to die to fulfill a promise...to relieve his pain. It wasn’t simply order. Order could be spawned by an establishment like Hydra, but this- this was something Hydra couldn’t manufacture- a loyalty that couldn’t be synthesized, or programed.

This was  _ love _ . 

Natasha slowly nodded. “Our division will do everything we can for him.” She promised. “We’ll keep working- we’ll find a solution.” Her tone was low, and quiet, and Bucky felt his strength crumbling.

He was exhausted, and scared, and riddled with guilt. He just wanted Steve to be okay...and they were facing death without question on one side, and possible death, but the promise of aid on the other...there were no guarantees. Nothing was certain.    
_ But they could help Steve- _

_ They would help Steve- _ _   
_ And very, very slowly, Bucky dipped his head in a nod. 

Natasha nodded in return, slowly easing a step forward. “I’m gonna radio my superior, alright Soldier?” She said, the heads up to prevent a startle as she reached for her radio. And at Bucky’s acknowledgment, Natasha lifted the radio, clicking the side button and speaking into it. 

“Hill? Hostile one-  _ Soldier- _ and I have reached an accord. I need you to give the Alpha code to have the men stand down. Expect hostage and hostile exit in under ten.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	13. Surrender

_ It had been almost an hour.  _

Steve knew that things like this could take time. Bucky was negotiating for their  _ lives- _ it wouldn't be short. But the longer it dragged on, the more fearful Steve became. 

Bucky could be dead by now. The thought turned his stomach sick with fear- the image of his beloved lying on the ground-  _ bleeding- _ his heart already still- body growing cold. It was too much for Steve

Abruptly, he pulled away from where he had his weight rested against the edge of the sink, pacing the length of the cramped space feverishly. He was tense and nervous, clenching and unclenching his fists, grinding his teeth until they ached. The girl watched him from the bathtub with wary eyes, her knees pulled up against her chest. Since Bucky had released the other girl, she hadn't cried. But she never took her eyes off Steve and the more unsettled he grew, the more tense she became. Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up the sound of her rapidly beating heart from across the room. But comfort wasn't an emotion Hydra had left him with. He had no capacity to put her at ease, and not real desire to try.

He was just scared.

Scared for Bucky, and scared for himself.

That was all he had left inside of him right now.

Silence hung over the room like a fog, the only sounds in the small space being the soft suggestion of Steve's footsteps pacing across the floor and the hostage’s irregular breathing- Like a standoff between the hostage and Steve- Between Steve and everything outside. 

_ Everyone was just waiting for the sky to fall.  _

The doorknob shifted just slightly, and Steve's whole body prickled with tension. His hand shot out, grabbing the gun off the sink. The girl flinched in the bathtub.  

And the door opened, Bucky slipping inside. 

Steve let out a ragged breath, the gun slipping with a clatter onto the sink, and he moved forward. Bucky’s mouth twitched, his lips parting to speak when Steve reached out and grabbed him, dragging him close. Their bodies met with a  _ thump _ , and Steve’s arms came around Bucky tightly, crushing him against his bare chest as Bucky let out a low huff- mismatched flesh and metal hands sliding around his waist. 

“ _ Steve- _ ” He breathed, closing his eyes, and clinging to him. He could feel his Steve’s heart pounding against his ribcage, fluttering like a bird, and he pressed his face into the crook of his neck, his eyes squeezed closed. Bucky had just decided the course of their entire future, and he’d had to do it without consulting Steve. It's now how he would have wanted it, but it was how it had to be. 

_ Bucky only hoped he’d made the right call.  _

Steve pressed in close, his fingers gripping into the hardened, strong muscle of Bucky’s back, his chest heaving with relief as he held to him. He was never sure anymore. Never sure when was the last time he’d see the love of his life alive- when was the last time he could hold him, and kiss him, and still feel a beating heart. So many times now he’d been afraid he’d lose him. 

Steve swallowed hard, drawing back and pressing a short, desperate kiss to Bucky’s lips, his hands moving to hold his jaw, his eyes closed as his fingers pressed into his skin. He drew in a deep breath, soaking in the way Bucky pressed in, his lips parting under his. Steve kissed him for a moment longer, lingering selfishly before he eased back, running a thumb over Bucky’s damp, plush lower lip as he let out a rough breath. 

“What happened?” Steve whispered softly, his eyes darting between Bucky’s eyes and his lips, his thumb still softly tracing the tender flesh. “What happened out there, Bucky? What’s going on?”

Bucky swallowed his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. Steve wasn’t going to like this. He wasn’t going to understand. But it had to happen. “Steve-” He said softly. “I talked to the negotiator, we’re going to turn ourselves in. We’re going to go with them, okay?”

Steve recoiled like Bucky had struck him. 

_ “What?”  _ He rasped, his eyes wide with something like horror, alarming carved into every nuance of his expression. He drew back from Bucky, his brow twisting, his body tensing with suspicion and fear. 

“Steve-” Bucky interjected softly- pleadingly. “Listen to me- listen to me. The SSR is  _ against  _ Hydra. We’re in their way- th-the killing- We’re taking out targets that they’re trying to take in for interrogation. They need that to stop and they’re willing to kill us to make it stop but it doesn’t have to be that way-” He pressed, reaching out urgently and catching his hand, Steve pulling instinctively against him.

_ God- He was so afraid.. _ .It killed Bucky to see him like this. Steve had been scared before, when they’d first thrown him, lost, and confused, into Bucky’s cell. But he’d been so strong...and now… To see that stubborn, staunchly brave Steve that had saved what was left of his brutalized heart, so _ \- so  _ scared….It broke Bucky’s heart, and he saw no way to fix it. No other choice. Nothing else left inside of him. 

“Steve,  _ please- _ ” Bucky implored, easing forward. “Just listen...They’re gonna take care of you- they’re gonna make the pain stop.”

Steve’s teeth clenched, his head jerking in a violent shake _. “They’re lying-” _ He snarled, anger flaring inside him as the mention of the pain brought it flashing to the forefront of his mind. It hurt-  _ god- _ it hurt. Steve had learned how to ignore it, but it was always there- throbbing in the background of his mind, seeping through every muscle. He felt it in his head, and in his bones. It plagued him as he lay beside Bucky at night, trying to sleep as directionless fear coursed through him and the anguish throbbed in his bones. 

He didn’t even remember where the pain had come from. He didn’t even remember that there had ever been a time when he hadn’t been in pain, and- and...he wanted it to stop…

Steve so badly wanted the pain to stop, but his brutalized heart and mind balked at the idea of putting himself into the hands of a faceless entity. He- he couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Steve shook his head again, pacing back away from his love as his fingers dragged through his hair, something in the back of his mind reacting to a dim thought that there was a time not too long ago when it had just been cropped bristles over thin, scaly skin. But Steve forced the memory back. It only made his head throb anyways. “No.” He said tensely, his fingers itching for the security of the gun in his hand. 

But he couldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t safe, and he wasn’t allowed to hurt Bucky. 

“No,” Steve gritted out again, his body quivering with tension. “We can’t. _ I won’t.” _ He snapped, looking back over his shoulder at Bucky, his teeth aching from the tension in his jaw. “They’re gonna kill us, and I won’t just walk out and let them.”

“They’re not gonna kill us-”  _ I hope. _

“You don’t know that!” Steve snapped back.

“Steve-”

_ “SHUT UP!” _

The gun was in Steve’s hand before he could even register the movement of his aching body. Bucky’s body rippled with tension, the girl curling low in the bathtub with a sharp intake of breath, and Bucky’s eyes flashed with panic. 

Steve stopped, his teeth clenched, the gun gripped so hard his knuckles were right and his hand was quaking. He wasn’t pointing at anything, but it twitched like it wanted to- the weeks he’d spent honing his accuracy by taking out any and all Hydra agents the could find having wound Steve. His body was always ready for a fight- his eyes ready for the sight of blood. His finger was tense on the trigger, his chest heaving. 

And slowly, Bucky moved. 

He eased forward, his hands open, his expression guarded. “Steve…” He murmured lowly. “Look at me...I need you to remember earlier, okay?...I know you’re angry, and I know you’re scared, but you can’t hurt me.” Bucky said softly moving forward slowly, his eyes never leaving his. “And you can’t hurt her.” He said, moving one hand slightly towards their hostage. “There’s no need... _ there’s no need for it, _ Steve, okay?” He coaxed.

Steve’s eyes snapped feverishly around, the buzz of adrenaline, and panic, and rage ebbing and flowing, clearing for moments before crashing over him. Bucky stood in front of him, easing closer.  _ He couldn’t hurt him. No need.  _ The hostage curled up in the bathtub, covering her head, shaking. _ No need. A waste.  _

Steve’s finger twitched on the trigger, tensing- flexing- relaxing. 

His hand dipped, his eyes flickering. 

And Bucky stepped forward, softly closing his hand around the gun. 

“There we go…” Bucky murmured softly, easing it out of his hand and laying it softly on the sink. “There we go, Steve...Come on...come back to me….” He breathed, his hand trailing, soft and intimate up his arm, trailing tenderly up the side of his neck to cup his jaw. “There we go…”

Steve shuddered, his wild eyes flickering with conflicted fear, his gaze darting from Bucky, to the door, to the gun. He looked back to him, letting out a heaving breath. 

Bucky’s opposite hand eased up so that he could cradle Steve’s jaw in both palms, his thumbs sweetly caressing his cheekbones. He leaned close, resting his forehead against Steve and murmuring wordless comforts under his breath. The tension began to ease- the aggression bleeding out. Slowly, Steve’s hands moved shakily to Bucky’s waist, and Bucky gave a tiny, warm little smile. “That’s my Steve…” He murmured, nuzzling close his lips caressing his. “You’ve gotta trust me…” Bucky breathed. “You’ve gotta trust me. This is our only shot….” His thumbs continued to caress his cheeks, Bucky noting the little hitch in Steve’s breathing and he made a soft, soothing little sound. “I know...I know...I don’t love it either. It’s scary- and dangerous, a-and we don’t have any guarantees, but….if we don’t do this Steve...we have no chance. Without this deal...we’re gone the second we step out that door, but… If we take it...there’s a chance.  _ Just a chance.”  _ He breathed, nuzzling him and kissing the corner of his mouth softly, desperation seeping up through the cracks in his calm exterior.

_ “She said they could help you, Steve.” _ Bucky whispered, “-Make the pain stop...They work in science, and medicine, as well as military. Th-...they can help you...She said they would help you.”

Steve swallowed, his gaze flickering up painfully. 

He did want it to stop. He wanted the pain to go away. Steve couldn’t remember a time without pain, and the thought of a life without it...it was just a hazy daydream… but it would be so nice...It would be so good to be able to even  _ breath _ without pain- to walk, or sleep.  _ Anything _ . It would be so good to do anything without pain. 

“Bucky-” Steve rasped helplessly, his hand sliding up to catch Bucky’s pressing it desperately against his cheek. _ “What if they dont?” _

Bucky’s eyes met his, and slowly, he let out a rough, ragged breath. “I don’t know…” He murmured after a long second of silence, his forehead brushing against his. “I don’t know, Steve...but what I do know is that it’s our only shot...It’s our only shot.” He pleaded roughly. “Otherwise we die for sure, but if they don’t-” Bucky murmured, “If they don’t kill us-...they could help. They could stop the pain.”

Steve shifted restlessly, his nervous tics resurfacing, and Bucky swallowed, urgency twisting in his gut. “Steve...If we don’t go with them...even if we do escape...there’s nothing for us at the end of this.” Bucky breathed, low, and soft, and serious, his eyes boring into Steve’s. And it ached deep in his chest to remember that Steve had no memory of the sweet, beautiful little lie that had gotten them through all the cold, cruel nights in that cell. 

“Before we escaped- before they took your memories, and changed you...there was a story you used to tell me.” Bucky murmured, stroking his cheeks as Steve’s eyes latched on his. “We would lay on the cot together, and you would rest your head against my chest...and you would tell me about what we would do one we escaped… You told me how we would run, and hide from Hydra...and how...once they stopped looking for us, we would settled down in a quiet little town. We would get jobs, and a home, and a dog...You’d tell me how we would be safe...and that even after everything that had happened to us, we could still be happy….” 

Steve’s eyes flickered painfully, his shattered mind tentatively brushing through the shrapnel of his life to try and find the memory Bucky was talking about...But Steve wasn’t that lucky, and he surrendered the effort and accepted the words of the story as Bucky’s and not his...or as a description of something he may have done in a past life….

Bucky raised his eyes softly, his gaze locking with Steve’s. “What we’re doing now...the killing...if we keep on like this, we won’t last...Hydra will kill us, and there won’t be anything left for us at the end of it...no home, or life, or happiness...that’s not a choice for us...not like this…” Bucky murmured, his hand sliding back to caress softly through his hair. “But if we go with them...it won’t be easy at first...they may keep us apart for a while, but...they want Hydra gone, and..so do we….” Bucky breathed. “We could be on the same side Steve.” He pleaded. “The SSR could help with the pain- we could help them dismantle Hydra- they could keep us safe. We could be safe, Steve” Bucky murmured again, his expression desperate. “We could still be happy...even after all this….” 

And slowly-  _ very slowly-  _ Steve caved.

He closed his eyes, letting out a rough, shuddering breath, his heart pounding painfully inside of his ribs. He had to accept this...he had no other choice. And a slim chance at life- at happiness- was better that the certainty of death. Handing themselves over to the SSR could be a death sentence, but it could also be their only shot at survival. 

“Okay….” Steve murmured, low and tense. “W...what do we need to do?...”

Bucky’s mouth softened into a smile, and he eased forward, tenderly pressing a lingering kiss to Steve’s lips. “We walk out.” He said softly. “Romanoff- the negotiator- already got the men to stand down, we just….we just have to walk out, and do as they say.”

Steve swallowed, Bucky’s instruction doing nothing for his heart. It felt like it was going to burst. “And after?” He murmured quietly.

Bucky’s expression phased into a grimace. That was harder….That was  _ a lot  _ harder…. “After that….we just have to wait.” He said softly, the words tense and painful. Bucky didn’t liked to think of the after. Romanoff had given him a preview of how things had to be, but...he didn’t want to think about it. But Steve deserved to know. “They’re gonna isolate us for a while, Steve…” He said quietly. “They’re gonna keep us apart, and question us, but...you’ve got to stay under control…” Bucky pleaded. “You can’t lash out at them, or shut down, y-you’ve just got to cooperate...tell them everything they want to know...about you- about me- about Hydra...The only way we survive is by showing them that they can trust us- that they don’t have to kill us, or lock us up…”

Steve’s eyes flickered with a keen edge of panic. “They’re gonna take you away-” He rasped, and Bucky’s grip grew more firm on his jaw- keeping him grounded. 

“For a while, but not forever. I’ll get back to you. I promise.” Bucky breathed. “I promise, Steve, I’ll do what they want, and tell them what they want to know, and if you do the same...we can be together again...they’ll let us back together. They have to.”

Steve was hating this more and more. But the worst part was, he was also more and more certain that it was their only option. They were going to surrender themselves, and maybe they would die. If they didn’t they would lock him and Bucky up- they’d keep them separate...if they were very lucky, they would let them see each other again. And if for some unfathomable reason they kept their word, they would make the pain that plagued Steve’s body stop. But by the time Steve’s mind reached that point of the situation, the odds were very slim. But they had to take them...the had too. Death was the only other option.

Swallowing hard, Steve dipped his head into a ragged nod. “Okay…” He whispered softly. “Promise me...I need you.”

Bucky nodded instantly, nuzzling close and kissing him softly once more. “I promise. I promise, Steve...I’ll do everything I possibly can to get back to you. And you?” He whispered, kissing him again. 

“I’ll...do as they say. I won’t lash out. I’ll give them the information they need, and...they’ll bring you back to me.” 

Bucky nodded softly, pressing a brief kiss to his lips, his lungs releasing a ragged huff. “Good- good, w...we’re gonna make it, Steve...I’ll come back to you. W-we’ll make it back to each other, but right now….right now we have to go.” He said softly. Easing back, stroking his thumbs over his cheekbones. “Do as they say… _.don’t be afraid.. _ .I’m gonna find a way back to you.”

Steve nodded raggedly, his eyes locking with Bucky’s. And despite all his assurance, all Steve could think was that- again- this may be the last time he saw Bucky...He’d thought that so many times in the past few hours, and it never really stopped hurting. The fear never dulled. The expectation of the pain of losing the only good thing Steve had never stopped plaguing h is thoughts. It felt like broken glass was being ground into his heart. It felt like sharp, ragged nails raking down the walls of his mind, carving deep, bloody gashes.    
He may never see him again. He may never get the chance to hold Bucky in his arms. To kiss him. To look into the eyes that felt like a home Steve could no longer remember. And the desperation flooded his heart. 

Steve reached out, taking Bucky’s jaw in both hands and drawing him in, capturing his mouth in a deep, desperate kiss.

He had been lucky so far. His other last kisses had proven not to be. But Steve knew their luck, and it was overdue to run out. Steve was never letting Bucky out of his sight again without something like a goodbye- without a reminded of his love, because he was never sure when the reminder would end up being the final reminder. He wanted to die knowing Bucky understood- understood how much he loved him. If Bucky had to die...he wanted him to die loved. He wanted him to remember that. 

Bucky leaned forward, returning the kiss as he gripped Steve’s forearms, his thumbs rubbing over his skin, one hand slipping up to cradle his jaw. 

And then it was time. 

Steve broke back, knowing that if he didn’t move now, he would freeze. His fear would get the better of him. He wasn’t going to be able to do it. Drawing in a deep breath, Steve pulled away, his lips damp and flushed from the kiss, and he gripped Bucky’s jaw desperately for just a second before pulling fully away. His eyes flickered to the security of the gun he knew he would have to leave behind. They darted from Bucky to their hostage. “The girl?” Steve asked breathlessly, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“Coming with us.” Bucky said, moving over to the edge of the tub and holding out his right hand rather than the somewhat menacing left- metal, and still stained with the blood of the last Hydra agent they had killed. “Come on.” He coaxed quietly. “The SSR is going to take care of you.” 

The girl’s eyes flickered, looking at the hand and then at Bucky, fear and suspicion darkening her brow. But after a second, she reached out, placing her shaking hand in Bucky’s and he pulled her up to her feet. Almost as soon as her feet were under her, she slipped her hand out of Bucky’s touch, stepping out of the bathtub, and drawing away. 

Bucky’s brow twisted a tiny bit in a grimace. He didn’t like hostage situations. He didn’t like unnecessary civilian involvement- or god forbid- civilian death. In a situation like this, there may not even be a scratch of physical harm, but enough emotional and mental damage to last for years. Bucky didn’t like it...It was a waste. In only a few hours this girl and the other had most likely accumulated the kind of trauma that would plague them for months if not years.    
Bucky softly reached out, cracking the bathroom door. “Romanoff.” He said, his voice low, and quiet, his eyes lingering on their hostage. “We’re ready.” The announcement was for caution’s sake. Startling their negotiator by coming out unexpectedly could only end badly for everyone involved. 

“We’re all set up out here.”   
At the confirmation, Bucky pushed open the door the rest of the way, slipping out, his eyes darting to Romanoff. She stood by the window, her arms loosely crossed. The late afternoon sunlight backlit her, turning her deep russet hair white with the gleam. She stood casually, watching as Bucky moved into the main room, coaxing their hostage through the doorway. Bucky gestured past him to Natasha, and the woman’s mouth curled into a little smile. 

“Hey, come on, Let’s get out out of here.” She smiled, the girl’s expression crumpling with relief, her eyes darting back to Bucky and Steve once or twice before she moved hurriedly to Natasha’s side, the negotiator slipping an arm over the shaken girl’s shoulder. Her gaze turned to Bucky, giving him an approving nod, before Steve slipped out of the bathroom, and Natasha took stock of the -until now, unseen- Captain. 

So this was the man the Soldier was willing to give up his life for. 

Her lips tugged faintly. “Alright...Soldier, Cap-” She greeted with a nod. “Here’s how this is going to happen-” Natasha’s gaze flickered down to the young woman. “What’s your name, chickadee?” She asked her, the nickname gentle and teasing, and the girls fingers curled instinctively into the back of her shirt, holding close.

“Becca-” She said in a hoarse little whisper, and Natasha nodded, keeping her close under her arm. 

“Becca and I are going to go out first, the two of you follow one at a time. The men outside are  _ going _ to restrain you.” She said seriously, looking the Soldier and his Captain dead in the eyes. “But don’t panic. The less you resist, the more gentle they’ll be. Let the men do their jobs, and no one get’s hurt. From there, you’re going to be taken to a SSR base where we’ll work on reaching the terms we discussed.” Natasha finished, her eyes still scanning the two of them. Any sign of reluctance or non-compliance would change the game plan. Natasha trusted the Soldier’s devotion. He would comply. But the Captain was still a wild card. She knew little about him and hadn’t had the chance to observe him. She searched his expression for any worrying facial cues. Any suggestion- any nervous tick would tip her off. 

But for the moment- nothing. 

For the moment, it looked like it might just go off without a hitch. 

Giving the two of them a level nod, Natasha kept her arm around Becca’s shoulder, moving to the door. Her hand slipped down to her radio, lifting it to her lips and clicking it on. “Romanoff.” She ID’d herself. “I’m exiting with Hostage two- Becca. Hostile one- Soldier and Hostile two- Captain are surrendering complacently. Force should not be necessary. Repeat, force should  _ not _ be necessary.” 

The radio fuzzed a short confirmation from one of the soldier’s outside the door and Natasha looked back at the two of them, giving them a nod. “This should go down easy. Don’t make me regret it.”  She said simply, before opening the door. 

At the sight of the guns, Steve felt his heart lurch into his throat, his eyes flickering to Bucky. They weren’t raised- weren’t aimed, and there was a pocket of open space between the team of agents and the doorway, but still...it would be so easy. All it took was one agent who decided he didn’t like the established plan and either he or Bucky could get a bullet in their head. Either- or both….

Steve choked on a swallow, watching as the men eased back a little more, their weapon’s lowering further as Natasha strode into their midst, Becca still tucked protectively under her arm. She walked into the middle of them with a confidence that Steve couldn’t find. She knew she wouldn’t be harmed. She knew the hostage wouldn’t be harmed. Steve had no such guarantees, and neither did Bucky. That had no collateral. No leverage. 

But it was too late to renegotiate now. 

Bucky’s hand brushed Steve’s, his heart pounding in his throat as his gaze flicked over to the man he loved. He gave his fingers a soft squeeze. “I’ll go first.” He breathed. Maybe if Steve saw how it was going to be it would be easier for him to face. All Bucky wanted was to make this easier on him. 

Steve’s hand tightened urgently around Bucky’s. “Careful.” He rasped, his eyes bright with fear, and Bucky wet his lips, nodding raggedly. 

“I will be…” He said softly, before his lips twitched in a silent, _ ‘I love you.’  _ And he slipped his hand from Steve’s, walking into the midst of the armed agents. 

They were on him in a second.

Every movement was precise, and controlled- blindingly fast without being chaotic. Bucky was surrounded on all side, the agents grabbing his arms and the back of his head and neck, moving him to his knees. Bucky’s expression twisted into a grimace, his stomach knotting with fear as he was pushed down face first onto the floor with controlled efficiency, his wrists cuffed with heavy magnetic manacles- his elbows tethered with a thick strap to keep him from using them as weapons. Impersonal hands patted over his body, feeling for hidden weapons before Bucky was pulled to his feet, and his head snapped around. 

Steve was staring in horrified silence, and Bucky desperately caught his gaze. “Captain-” He gasped. “Captain, I’m fine-  _ I’m fine- _ just do as they say. Please- just do as they say.” He begged, knowing that this was the worst of it- that if Steve lost himself now they both got bullets in their head, no question. And Bucky was already restrained. 

_ There would be nothing he could do to stop it.  _

Steve moved forward, his eyes locking on Bucky, when the armed agents surrounded him. 

Bucky’s heart lurched into his throat, his eyes flashing as Steve made a low sound- his expression twisting with rage and terror and-

_ He let himself be taken to the ground. _

Bucky’s heart stuttered with relief, his eyes closing as he let out a ragged huff, the soldier’s restraining grips instinctively tightening on his arms and the back of his neck. But he didn’t move. His eyes opened, his heart still pounding. But Steve was just laying on the ground, quivering all over- heaving- but not fighting. 

“It’s okay-” Bucky breathed raggedly, Steve’s desperate face tipping up to look at him with huge, terrified eyes. “It’s okay- It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. Promise- remember? I promise.” He rasped, holding his gaze even as the agents began to pull him backward- even as Steve craned towards him. 

Panic forced up Bucky’s throat, his expression contorting as his view of Steve cut in and out as agents passed between then. _ “Captain-” _ He called, his heels catching unintentionally on the carpet as he instinctively tried to halt their progress as the SSR agents pulled him back. And the fear inside him pitch- the fear that this was the end. That he’d never see Steve again. 

“Captain- It’s gonna be okay!” He called again, panic tightening his throat into a knot. “I’m gonna come back-  _ I’m gonna find you.”  _

And suddenly, the agents dragged him around the corner of the hallway, and Steve disappeared from his view- Restrained- terrified- and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	14. Reconnection

A soon as Bucky had been dragged out of Steve’s sight he’d been taken to the ground level. The SSR agents had handled him with steady, powerful grips and firm direction into the back of a transport truck. He had been closed in, and his cuffs had been latched to the bench between his thighs.

And Bucky just waited for it to turn ugly. 

He waited for the violence- the needless cruelty.

But the SSR soldier’s just watched him with wary eyes and readied weapons. It was clear they trusted Bucky as little as he trusted them. But they weren’t acting on it. They weren’t taking advantage of his helpless restraint to harm him, even though Bucky knew they very well could. And it left Bucky feeling lost, and disoriented.

The truck drove for hours- Bucky lost track. But when the rumbling stopped under the tires, and Bucky was let out, he was lead through a warehouse front and into a sprawling underground facility. It was sharp- clean- state of the art. Everything was designed for efficiency, and Bucky found himself being taken through hallways, and huge labs that were jam packed with scientific equipment. He was taken through medical bays, and down plunging stairwells. And then...Bucky’s restraints were removed, and he was placed into his containment unit. 

Bucky wouldn’t exactly call his containment unit a  _ cell _ .

It  _ was _ a cell in the sense that it had four walls, no windows, and a sealed door, but...it wasn’t a cell in the way where he’d been kept at Hydra had been a cell. Bucky had expected bars- a cage- or a padded room. He’d expected a dirty, concrete box crusted with the excrement of past prisoners who’d died here in filthy, agonized misery. He’d expected dirt, and an unbearable stench, and darkness, and cold... 

Where he found himself instead was...a  _ room _ . 

It wasn’t particularly cushy, or friendly, but there was a twin bed against the wall with a thin mattress. There was a clean toilet, and a sink, and a desk with two or three paperback books stacked on one corner. There was a pillow on the twin bed and a blanket as well...commodities Bucky had often gone without. At Hydra there had been a stiff cold cot, and a can for waste that was changed every day or two, but only if Bucky was lucky. Reading material had never been authorized… And that was the other thing...it was light.

The cell he and Steve had been kept in had been constantly dark, and frigid. This room was lit by a panel in the ceiling, and the air around him was temperate. Not freezing, or stifling.

Bucky had little experience with anything other than dirty, dark prisoners, and if he hadn’t been locked it...it would have almost been nice.

But that’s what scared him. 

Bucky had never been treated with any measure of care outside of the tenderness and love he had found in Steve. He was tense, and feverish, and just waiting for the second when it would all turn sour. Bucky’s luck never held out for very long. 

But as long as it did, Bucky just prayed that Steve was being treated the same. He prayed he’d been given a bed, and a pillow, and warmth, and light… He prayed that they weren’t treating the love of his life like a rabid animal- that they weren’t exercising the same needless cruelty that Bucky feared for himself.

He just wanted him to be okay. 

The days trickled by into one week. Two.

Natasha came often. At first, she would activate a switch that turned the door to his cell transparent, rather than its normal flat, opaque white. The first time it happened, Bucky had startled, wrenching backwards with heart racing and teeth bared, ready for it to be the end- or worse- the beginning of something terrible- of the cruelty he’d been expecting.

But Natasha had just  _ talked _ to him. She brought him the tray of food that was cycled in three times a day with somewhat bland, but not inedible, food. She had passed it through the slot to him, and when Bucky demanded to know about Steve, she had given him a faint twitch of a smile.  _ Allegedly _ , Steve was safe.  _ Allegedly _ , he was being kept in a similar unit not far away, and allegedly, professionals in their areas of science and medicine were taking samples and beginning examination and testing of them to try and find the source of Steve’s pain. Bucky wasn’t certain he believed her, but he trusted Natasha a tiny measure more than he trusted anyone else in this facility. 

She spoke to him like an equal. She brought him food, and word of Steve, and she warned him a day in advance when he was going to be brought out of his cell to be questioned.

The questioning was stressful, but for the most part, Bucky was not treated as a hostile informant. The SSR asked him details about Hydra- about names, and locations, and plans. And Bucky- with no love or loyalty to the organization that ripped him apart and ruined his beautiful Steve- surrendered everything he knew. At this point, he would do just about anything if it meant he could just get back to Steve.

After the second week, Natasha allowed him paper, and a fine tipped marker, allowing him to write to Steve. Bucky spent hours agonizing over every word. His heart ached to know he was safe, and being taken care of. He was desperate to assure him of his love. But Bucky didn’t trust those words- those  _ feelings _ to  _ anyone _ , even if Natasha was the messenger.  When he finally handed the folded sheet back to her, the note was simple, and guarded, and earnest, using only language that one might expected between a subordinate and his superior officer.  

_ Captain, _

_ Agent Romanoff has allowed a dialogue between us.  _ ~~_Are you alrig_ ~~ _ What is your condition, and status? If your physical needs are not being met I have reason to believe that Agent Romanoff will be willing to speak on our behalf. She assures me that steps are being taken to improve your function. I will do everything in my power to rendezvous with you as soon as I am able.  _ ~~_I miss you I love y_ ~~

~~_Love_ ~~

~~_Yours_ ~~

_ Soldier. _

It wasn’t the kind of letter Bucky wanted to send. He wanted to tell him that he missed him. That he loved him more than he could say. He wanted to tell him he’d rip this organization apart from the inside to the out if they were harming him in any way. He wanted to tell him the way his chest ached sleeping without his breathing, and the sound of his heartbeat to lull him to sleep….He hadn’t had to sleep without him since the day Hydra had thrown his frail, shaking figure into the cell with him.  _ And he missed it… _ Bucky wanted so badly to tell him how he missed him. But Bucky had no trust for the SSR and he didn’t dare give up anything that could be used to hurt them.

Bucky was cautious to hope for anything, yet when a folded sheet of paper slipped through the slot along with his food tray, his heart lurched into his throat. And he unfolded it with shaking hands his eyes scanning the words on the page.

Steve’s letter was equally guarded, and concise, and Bucky could see even in the pressure of how the pen had been held that Steve was tense. He was afraid, but…Steve was always afraid. He could tell he was afraid of giving away anything that could be used to hurt Bucky as well.

_ Soldier, _

_ Statues: Active. Condition: Unharmed.  I am kept primarily in a single room but my physical needs are being met.  _ ~~_I miss you_ ~~ _ They take me frequently to a lab to take samples, and give injections. There is no change in my function.  _ ~~_I’m afraid- It hurts I want it to stop._ ~~ **** _ They question me about Hydra but I remember nothing. _ ~~_I miss you_~~ _ Respond as you are able. _

_ Captain. _

As the weeks past, Bucky’s life felt into a pattern of waiting, answering questions, writing Steve, and waiting- living for the moments he could hear word on the love of his life. Waiting for the day something would change, and he would be allowed to see him again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_ My Captain, _

_ It has been three weeks and four days, and  _ **_I miss you_ ** _ I continue to surrender information regarding Hydra to our captors. The agents say it is useful, but my only hope is that it can be used to dismantle them.  _ ~~_They deserve to die for what they did to us_ ~~ _The SSR tells me that they are planning a hostile takeover. They are going to destroy Hydra the way they deserve for what they did to you. ~~They want our aid but you’re all that matters.~~ Is there any improvement in your status? Are you being treated well?_

_ Soldier. _

_ -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- _

_ Soldier, _

_ The medical technicians at the SSR have begun giving me regular injections that temporarily alleviate the pain  _ ~~_It doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, Buck_ ~~ _ My status is improved. An agent called Barton took me into an enclosed yard today after my injections. The sunlight felt good….I’ve missed the fresh air.  _ ~~_I miss you_ ~~ _ I hope they allow you the same privilege. _ ~~_I love you_ ~~

~~_Ste-_ ~~

_ Your Captain. _

_ -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- _

_ Steve, _

_ I miss you. I hope they’re not screening these letters but I can’t. I miss you. It’s been six weeks. I miss you. _

_ Your Soldier.  _

_ -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- _

_ I miss you too. I love you, Buck. Please come back. _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The words were scratched onto the page with ragged desperation, and Bucky read them with a knot in his throat, and his heart in his stomach. Steve needed him….He needed him and he couldn’t get to him. The SSR had been fair captors. They hadn’t hurt them, but Steve needed him, and he couldn’t get to him….

His eyes flickered up to where Natasha rested her weight against the end of the desk, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, Steve’s latest letter in his hands. His eyes were lifted to her, expression wrent with grief.  

“He needs me…” Bucky murmured softly, his tone so torn up that Natasha’s expression flickered. Bucky wet his lips, his eyes dropping to the few words on the paper, before he looked back to her. “Natasha…. _ please _ ...it’s been six weeks...He  _ needs _ me…” Natasha’s gaze fell gently to the note in Bucky’s hands, her eyes lingering there softly on the crinkled sheet- on the words scrawled only for the Soldier’s eyes….those words that twisted this normally impassive man’s expression with heart-wrenching grief. And every new interaction that Natasha saw, even just their reactions to the other’s letters, reinforced what she had guess from the very first day that she had met them.

_ That the Soldier loved his Captain. _

Natasha spent more time with the Soldier than she did with the Captain, so she primarily only saw one side of the relationship. But if the Soldier’s behavior was anything to go on, the devotion between them was boundlessly deep. The two were knit together- relying on each other, and  _ only _ each other for their survival- their sense of safety- for the only spark of happiness two such twisted and broken individual’s possessed. If Natasha’s guess was right, there was nothing these two would not do for each other, in the Soldier’s case- even volunteer his life to keep his Captain safe.

Slowly, Natasha’s eyes flickered up, her expression softened. “You’re Captain….” She said quietly, staring searchingly into the grieved expression of the Soldier sitting on the edge of the bed. “You love him…don’t you?...”

The change in the captive’s expression could not have been more distinct.

Every muscle in Bucky’s body rippled with tension, his teeth clenching as his gaze flickered warningly towards Natasha. Suddenly, he wasn’t a desperate- pleading man with a ragged, battered soul. He was a force of pure, defensive protectiveness. His eyes were sharp, and narrowed with warning, the tension in his hands crinkling the page as his muscular thighs coiled as thought bracing for a fight.

They weren’t supposed to know.

The SSR had treated them with dignity, even as prisoners, but that didn’t mean their safety was secure here- that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come to be viewed as dangerous, and unpredictable- needing to be leashed, muzzled, and controlled. Just because they had been fed, and kept in closed, clean units rather than freezing, dirty cells, didn’t meant their captors wouldn’t turn abruptly cruel as faceless organizations so often did. And if that became the case, the SSR could use their love to hurt and control them, just like Hydra did… They could use it to manipulate them. To use them. To make them be the silent,  mindless weapons Hydra had designed them to be.

If they knew that Bucky loved Steve they could threaten him…they could threaten to hurt his beautiful, broken Steve- to kill him. They could threaten  _ him _ to make  _ Steve _ comply- god- the thought made Bucky feel sick deep in his soul. Because Steve wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle something like that- Hydra had made sure of it. He’d break….And Bucky couldn’t even imagine the wreckage of a human being that would be left in the SSR’s wake were that to happen…

_ They couldn’t know _ .

Natasha watched the change, and stilled where she stood against the desk. She didn’t move, or shift her eyes. Natasha appreciated that the Soldier was a formidable force. He and his Captain had killed well over a hundred Hydra agents in only six weeks, and she knew that this man was powerful, and deadly. But she also knew that under it all, he was still painfully-  _ painfully _ human….and painfully afraid for the man he loved. “At ease, Soldier….” She said quietly, after a long moment, her eyes never leaving his. Not for a moment. “It was just a question…”

“Get out.” The Soldier said tensely, the words spoken through gritted teeth. But it was a plea- not an order. He knew he was in no position to give orders to an SSR agent.

Natasha’s expression softened. “Soldier…” She addressed lowly. “You’ve been doing well for us here…You’ve been compliant, and you’ve given us the kind of information on Hydra that will set out operation ahead by  _ years _ …you’ve given us no reason to think that you still have loyalties to Hydra…You’re secure here.” She said, her voice quiet, and serious. “The SSR has no intention of harming you… _ or your Captain.” _

Bucky’s jaw flexed tensely, his eyes flickering before dropping away. Bucky didn’t want to trust her- no good had ever come out of trust for Bucky, save for the raw, beautiful thing he had found with Steve. He didn’t want to share what little bit of light he had in the middle of his dark and twisted world. He wanted to hoard it- viciously- jealous- to ensure that no one took that tiny glimmer away from him…

But they already had.

He hadn’t seen Steve in six weeks. He was growing afraid he might never see him again with the exception of the letters they were allowed. They had already taken him…and Bucky was losing hope- he was losing sight of the glimmer of love he’d once held in his hands.

“I….” Bucky flexed his hands, the mechanisms in his metal arm whirring quietly in compensation. “St-…My Captain….is all I have.” He allowed tensely, the barrier he’d so carefully built around himself chipping, and cracking. “H….he’s everything.”

Natasha inclined her head in a small nod, her eyes lingering on him searchingly. “The SSR can protect both of you…” She said softly, and Bucky’s eyes dulled as he gave a humorless huff.

“I’m sure…” He murmured. “But if you’re never going to let me see him again, you might as well kill me.” Bucky’s words were sharp, and bitter, his eyes never lifting from the floor, grieved hopelessness etched into every line of his expression. “He’s the only good thing I ever had. If you’re just going to use us as leverage for each other, I’d rather break the cycle so he never has to be used again…”

This time, Natasha’s brow drew. “Soldier- you knew since the negotiation that we needed to keep you apart. The SSR wants to do what’s best for people, but we have to protect our organization- we had to make sure you could be trusted….” She said levelly, before something in her expression shifted, her eyes boring into his. “But if what you say is true…if you’re only loyalties are to your Captain….then _ I believe you.” _

Bucky blinked, his eyes snapping up, the bitter suspicious and heart wrent grief on his face splintering. _ “What?” _

_ “I believe you.”  _ Natasha repeated. “I do  _ not _ believe you’re a threat to the SSR- I believe you could, and may even be  _ willing _ to be a help to us in dismantling Hydra…and I believe that your  _ only _ concern if the safety of your Captain… _ I believe you.” _

Bucky’s dark, tense expression eased with caution hope. “And that means?” He asked in a hushed tone, telling himself not to expect- not to hope.

“That I think there’s someone you’ll want to see.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed, and he stood up, the paper fluttering from his hands.  _ “Steve-“  _ He breathed raggedly, his heart lurching up into his throat, and Natasha’s mouth tugged into a faint, mysterious little smile, pushing away from the desk with the palms of her hands.

“That his name?’ She asked, walking over to the door, her gate casual, and trusting even as she turned her back on him. Bucky knew she was still listening, and sensing- aware of his movements even behind her back, but…the gesture eased something inside of him and Bucky dropped his eyes. He braced for everything to turn horrible, and painful, and ugly, because that’s just how this worked-

_ -and he let himself trust her. _

“Yeah….” He said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Natasha glanced back with a small smirk, opening his cell door, Bucky started, and alarmed that she was just walking out with him. He was usually cuffed when he was taken to questioning sessions- which had recently become less of interrogations, and more of a think-tank that he had to be handcuffed for. But Natasha was just opening the door for him, no cuffs or tethers involved. 

“It suits him.” She smirked. “He looks like a Steve.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Bucky pressed instinctively, his eyes darting- suspicious of some kind of test, or trap as he stepped- like a skittish deer from the woods- out of his cell.

Natasha closed the cell door behind him, touching his elbow loosely to guide him as she took him down –by now- familiar hallways. “No one’s going to hurt anyone.” She said easily. “We’ve got a common enemy, Soldier.  _ Hydra _ . They’re the only ones we want to see hurt…You and Steve...you can be a part of our team.”

_ “Captain-“ _ Bucky corrected, looking up at her, and Natasha’s eyes flickered over, meeting his, before Bucky dropped his eyes. “Our names, they’re-….they’re all we have left of who we were before,” Bucky said softly because even Steve hadn’t been able to help him to remember more than the bare bones of his past, and now, they had taken all that from Steve too. The bare bones was all there was anymore, and it may be all there would ever be. The life Steve had helped him to remember was gone. But it was good- and it was special- and it was  _ private _ . Bucky’s eyes flickered over to Natasha seriously. “My Captain’s name and mine are all we have left of who we were before Hydra, and… _.that just belongs to us…” _

For a long moment, Natasha just looked at him, searching, and serious, before she gave a respectful nod. These two men had had enough taken from them, and if all that they had left was their names, Natasha would leave that to them. The SSR would never have to know…some things were more important than honesty. 

“That secret dies with me then.” Natasha smirked, brushing off the long, serious pause, and Bucky blinked, surprised that she would allow it. Frankly, he’d thought she would need to report any reference to their identities to the SSR- He’d thought it would be mandated-...But whether it was or not, Natasha was choosing to respect Bucky’s delicate plea- the plea to leave the tiny scraps of who they had used to be safe in his heart rather that exposed in cold, blank and white print in the thick files the SSR was undoubtedly collecting on them. She looked as if she had already forgotten that the Captain was anything other than just that.  _ Captain _ . Natasha looked as though if anyone were to asked her the Captain’s name, she would just smirk, and ask in a rusty tease if there was a disconnect between the asker’s mouth and ears.

Bucky couldn’t begin to express how grateful he was, and the terrifying trust for this woman he’d allowed to take root began to grow just a tiny bit more. 

Natasha lead Bucky down hallways, and into an elevator on the third floor, and out on the first, before their path wound them through more hallways and several medical bays. And finally, Natasha stopped in the doorway of one.

Bucky buffered, his footfalls stopping. His eyes flickered around the medical bay, his heart in his throat. It was fairly quiet, just a few med techs drifting around- carrying files and checking samples. Most of the beds were empty, and only one section was curtained off. Bucky eyes flickered to Natasha.

And Natasha’s mouth tugged into a smirk, her chin tipping towards the curtain. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped back and he moved from her side without a second thought. He forgot all about feeling like he was supposed to be cuffed. He didn’t even notice the way the med techs dodged warily out of his path. He forgot where he was- He forgot  _ who _ he was- 

_ All that mattered was Steve.  _

Bucky’s movement stopped with a jolt at the edge of the curtained off area, his heart pounding, his head spinning. He felt dizzy, and breathless, and terrified. He was scared Steve wouldn’t be there- scared that this was some sick joke that would kick off everything turning ugly, and terrifying the way Bucky had feared. 

He was scared Steve  _ would _ be there.

What if they had experimented on him the way Hydra had done? What if they had cut into him and hooked him up to monitors, and machines. What if they had given him injections that hurt and distorted him….Bucky was terrified that he would pull back the curtain, and all that Hydra had left of his Steve would be gone…

His tongue dipped out, feverishly wetting his lips as he shakily lifted his flesh hand, the metal fingers curling, and uncurling at his side. He could sense Natasha lingering a few feet back. He could hear the beeping and clicking of medical machinery. His own heart pounded heavily in his ears. 

Bucky softly curled his fingers around the curtain-

-and drew it back.

Bucky’s breath stopped in his lungs. 

Steve sat on the edge of the hospital bed with his back to Bucky, his head was a little bowed, but his body wasn’t rigid, and terrified- just vaguely wary. The soft, golden hair on one side of his head had been shaved back, and Bucky could see the suggestion of a surgery site. But it had clearly been done with care. The line of aggravated skin had been cleaned, and tended to, and stitched with careful precision. His skin looked washed out in the white hospital light, but Bucky could tell there was still a healthy color to it. And his frantic heart gave a ragged little huff of relief. 

He...He looked  _ okay. _

For the first time, Bucky let the curtain rustle, and clink as he pushed it back, and Steve whipped around. 

For a hot second, his expression was twisted with fear, and confusion- fight for flight straining inside his battered mind. When suddenly- it all collapsed. 

_ “Bucky-” _

Steve lurched out of bed.

Bucky’s body flushed with need, and pain, and relief, and he lunged forward, their bodies abruptly crashing together in a solid  _ thump _ of mass and muscle in a tangle of arms and legs.

Bucky swept him up clinging to Steve with needy, grabbing hands, his face pressing into the crook of his neck as Steve gave a strangled sound that was something like a sob, his hands clutching him so hard Bucky ached. _ But he didn't care. _ He didn't care that Steve was forgetting his strength. He didn't care that his fingers were digging bruises into his neck and shoulder as his grip shifted feverishly, grabbing wherever he could just to assure himself he was real. His steely arms around him made Bucky's ribs ache, but  _ he didn't care. _ It didn't matter.  _ Steve was here- _ in his arms. He was alive-  _ and he was safe. _

“Hey-” he breathed raggedly. “Hey- it's okay- you're okay-  _ god-”  _ Bucky choked. “You’re  _ okay-” _

Steve clutched him tighter, Bucky’s ribs creaking and he gave a breathless huff, his fingers tangling through the hair that was left on the right side of Steve's head, his opposite hand brushing lightly across the fine bristles in the other side where his hair had been shaved back for surgery. “ _ God- _ I missed you- I missed you _ so goddamn much, _ I- are you okay?” Bucky asked raggedly. _ “You okay sweetheart?” _

After a long second, Steve’s grip eased and he pulled back just enough to clutch Bucky’s face in his shaking hands, his cheeks wet. “I- I'm okay- I’m  _ fine _ . A-are you?  _ Did they hurt you?” _

“ _ No- _ ” Bucky huffed, nuzzling close, his nose just brushing Steve's wet cheek. “No, _ they didn't hurt me.  _ They didn't hurt me, I'm fine.  _ What'd they do to your head?” _ He murmured, his fingers tracing the surgery line with delicate care, and Steve reached up, closing his hand over Bucky’s and easing it down, pressing it to his cheek and leaning desperately into the touch.  

Steve gave a huff, a blend of pain, and fear, and mind numbing relief spilling through him at the mention. “It okay…” He murmured, trying to trust that it was- that what the SSR doctors had told him was true. “I-it's...the doctor's say that they put in something like a pacemaker….i-it give a pulse that helps correct my pain signals,it’s-...it's  _ working-”  _ Steve cracked out, clutching Bucky’s hand closer against his cheek and lifting his lashes, staring at him with wet, relieved eyes that, for the first time since escaping Hydra, looked free of pain.  _ “Its working, Bucky…..”  _

Bucky let out a huffing laugh.  Drawing him closer and kissing his soft, plush lips, his hand sliding down to his waist, and Bucky was relieved to feel a layer of softness over his ribs. The food that the SSR  provided for them were not delicacies, but there was enough of it- especially for two super soldiers. They fed them plenty enough. And the gaunt, emaciated appearance Steve had staggered out of Hydra with had been softened by a gentle fullness in his cheeks, and a healthy amount of fat between Steve's skin and his bones. 

And Bucky could had almost cried...because for once _ \- just once  _ in their tortured lives...they were  _ okay _ . 

The SSR had been cautious to protect their own interests, but they had taken care of his Steve. They had fed him. They had stopped the pain.. _.they had taken care of them. _

And suddenly, Bucky felt like he found  _ home _ . It wasn't the home he and Steve had imagined for themselves, but...maybe it could still be a good one. 

Bucky drew him in, kissing him again, deep, and desperate, and relieved, his hand holding to his face, and Steve felt his mouth break into a smile. For just a while, everything was right. They had each other back. The pacemaker that had been worked delicately into his nervous system combated the pain, and….and  _ it didn’t hurt. _ Nothing  _ hurt _ , and Steve wasn’t hungry, or cold, or alone. And with Bucky in his arms- with his mouth pressed deep, and warm against his own.. _.He wasn’t even afraid. _

With Bucky here, there was nothing to be afraid of.  

After a few, long moments, Bucky’s ears caught the sound of the curtain rustling, and he broke the kiss, though he didn’t relinquish his hold on Steve’s waist, and his eyes flickered back. 

Natasha had drawn the curtain a little further open, her mouth softened into a little smile at the sight of the two of them. Bucky’s eyes met her’s, gratefulness flickering through them. And Natasha gave a little incline of her head. 

“Hey boys,” She greeted, her stance causual as Steve ducked his head away, and Bucky met her stare with just a hint of a thankful smile. 

“When you’re done, there are some people I want you to meet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. I'm so sorry this chapter is off of the regular schedule. School is getting pretty demanding but I'm going to try my best to keep posting as close to the weekly release as I can. Thank you all so much for your patience.   
> Comment are always loved and appreciated! <3


	15. Home

Bucky was so happy he could cry, and so anxious he could puke.

He was with  _ Steve. _

They’d given his beautiful Steve back to him, and for the first time in weeks, Bucky felt like the ragged hole in his chest had filled. The gnawing in his soul was gone- the ache- the constant throb of fear- the constant uncertainty that he would never see his love again. It had been replaced by his lover’s hand- warm in his- his pulse fluttering under the skin. His presence beside him. The fear had been replaced with a tentative hope, and a cautious trust in the organization that had dragged them from their bloodsoaked path, and cared for Steve- who’d brought them together even though they had kept them- by necessity- apart. 

Bucky could still sense fear, in Steve beside him. His heart rate was elevated, and Bucky could tell the difference in his pattern of breathing as he’d memorized the movements of it’s gentle rise and fall when he was sleeping, and relaxed. But he was  _ alive.  _ Steve was alive, and they were together, and it was all Bucky’s batter’s, abused heart could have ever hoped for.

Now, there was just the question of where Agent Romanoff was taking them.

She walked a few paces ahead of them with relaxed confidence, occasionally looking back over her shoulder at the two of them to make a comment- ever a casual joke as she lead them through the last that was the SSRs headquarters. Bucky tried to return her crooked little smirks that held so much cleverness and mystery and mischief. Reciprocating kindness and humor was not an instinct that ran strongly in Bucky, but...He had the feeling he could grow to like Natasha. Primarily because Natasha held something that Bucky valued above almost anything else: a sense that he could trust her- that she wouldn't take advantage of or exploit any vulnerability he showed. She hadn't used his love for Steve against him. She had kept the jealously guarded secret of their names- of all that was left of them- after only a few words from Bucky. Whether their relationship had begun as advisaries or not, Natasha respected him, and Bucky, in turn, respected her. 

Steve on the other hand had no idea what to do with the woman in front of him. She was baffling, and layered, and something in him still set off warning bells in his head whenever she caught sight of Bucky’s fingers iced through his- or the two of them holding tight to each other when they had finally been reunited after so long. Steve had no memories of his things used to be in the 30’s- how he had to guard and smother any trace of how in love he was with his best friend, because he could be hurt, and Bucky’s promising life could be ruined. He didn't remember the prejudice and persecution he faced for people even  _ assuming _ that he might be gay. But that kind of thing left a trace on a person's soul, and Steve found himself always tensing- always bracing for….something when Natasha glimpsed any suggestion of non-platonic affection between them.

But for some reason, Natasha just smirked. 

The smile was small, and reassuring. Because Natasha knew. Her own life had been difficult, and she knew how important it was to find someone-  _ anyone- _ who saw that heaviness in your life and helped you carry it. She was glad for them. Glad that in the midst of the wreckage Hydra had left of their lives, they had been able to find comfort in each other- and some sense of normalcy in their love. It was something good. Something simple, and wholesome. And if hiding their names or their relationship from the SSR was what it took to give these two men and edge, Natasha would do it. 

They’d been through enough. They both deserved a win.

“Alright, boys,” Natasha smirked, turning on her heel to face them, her hand curling around the knob of the door behind her, her weight rocked back on her heels, and there was a kind of glint in her eyes that Bucky couldn’t ignore. The kind of glint that said their lives were about to change.

“Ready to meet the Directors of the SSR?”

Bucky felt Steve tense beside him. His enhanced hearing caught the jump in his pulse, and the shift in his breathing, but his gave his hand a soft squeeze before reluctantly letting it go. As much as Bucky wanted to maintain the comfort of the contact, he felt the way Steve reacted when Natasha caught a glimpse of affection between them. He knew that even though Steve wanted the comfort, the cost for him was still too high. 

Maybe eventually, he wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. 

Slowly, Bucky glanced over at Steve and then to Natasha, nodding grimly. “We’re ready.” He said softly, and he and Steve watched as Natasha opened the door- facing it like an execution, while all the while Natasha was pushing open the door to the start of something different, and new. 

The heavy wooden door opened on a long conference room, and in the back of Steve’s head, he felt a painful twinge. He felt like he’d been here before- or somewhere like it. 

_ Small. Scared. Facing a long room and an impersonal figure.  _

The memory left Steve’s head throbbing. They usually didn’t come back in any kind of correct context, but in the moment, Steve felt exactly as he had when he’d been small, and frail, dragged in to face the Director of an impersonal organization. But this time, it wasn’t Director Pierce that stood at the end of the long conference table with his glassy, dead, blue eyes and crisp suit- with his false benevolent smile, and grandfatherly endearments.

This time, as the doors opened, the room was not steel and glass, but honey colored wood and deep wine red carpets. Tall lamps lined all down the walls, and the seats that lined the conference table were comfortable dark leather. 

And the end of the table, was an old woman who sat with grace, and poise despite her advanced age, her long, silver white hair pinned back in a slightly dated roll, but one that gave her a kind of timeless beauty that spread beyond the lines in her face and frail hands. Her posture was straight and squared, her figure clothed in a dark olive suit jacket and a calf-length skirt. Her hands were folded around a cup of tea. 

Across from her sat a strong featured, dark skinned man, with a smooth, bald crown and a patch over his left eye. His expression- his body- the very way he breathed exuded authority and a seamless confidence in his own capabilities. He wore a black button up shirt which fit just unusually enough to betray the bullet proof vest under it. A long, black, leather coat, and dark slacks completed his silhouette, and the piece on his hip accented the finished image. 

They sat there- both striking in their own way- both commanding respect and affording it to the other in equal measure.

And their eyes turned to them as Natasha brought the Soldier and his Captain in to meet the Directors.

Natasha moved to the side, smiling faintly. “Director Carter, Director Fury.” She said, nodding to the Directors. “These are the new potentials I was telling you about. Soldier and Captain.”

Director Carter was the first to rise, followed a moment later by Fury and she stepped forward, her eyes- still keen despite her age- sweeping over the two of them. She took in Steve’s tension, and guardedness, her professional expression easing as she observed him. Little was known about the Soldier- about the Captain, but Director Carter knew just from the look in his eyes that this man had been through hell….He was young too… His body was powerful, and strong, and his eyes looked like an old man’s, but he was still very- very young, and she could tell just from the way he breathed. He couldn’t even be twenty five….

“Captain.” She said, the man’s head lifting, his eyes sparking with hostility spurred by fear, but it faded to submissive anxiousness as Director Carter’s eyes met his. And she extended a hand. “Director Carter…. _ Peggy.” _ She added, her age-softened voice turning kind. Whether she knew much about him or not, Peggy had a knack for knowing who needed a little more kindness in their lives- and who was deserving of hers. 

Hesitantly, Steve took her weathered hand, shaking it tentatively before letting go. ”Ma’am.” He said quietly, dipping his head, and Peggy’s eyes turned to Bucky.    
And for a second, as their eyes met- there was a suggestion of something- a fluttering hint of a memory. One carved out by force- the other wrapped in the fog that came with age. 

_ A comrade.  _ _   
_ _ An old partnership.  _

Director Carter blinked. “Have we met, Soldier?” She asked, her tone caught between the crip expectation of an order, and the baffled softness of meeting an old friend. 

Bucky stared at the Director, his patchy memory flickering back to a suggestion of dark chestnut hair, and an accent and cadence that demanded the respect of the men in her field. He blinked, dipping his head. “I don’t think so, Director Carter.” He said, his tone low, and respectful, and Peggy’s mouth tugged faintly. 

“I’ll place it.” She said quietly, and Bucky half wished she would. With Steve’s memory gone, it would be nice to have someone who could tell him more about who he used to be.

As Peggy shook Bucky’s hand, Director Fury strode up, his atmosphere serious, and stern. He was a calculating man- one who guarded the integrity of their organization’s system with sharp intention. As long as he held power in the SSR, no one would grow sloppy. “As glad as I am that everything has gone so well with the two of you at the SSR so far, you haven't been brought here to shake hands and reminisce.” He said, his tone just ambiguous enough that it was impossible to tell whether he was actually glad or not. “Soldier, Captain- you started out as threats to the SSR’s operations, but what we’ve seen over the past few weeks suggests you’re not unwilling to cooperate with our efforts.”

His one good eye fell to them, and Bucky lifted his chin, returning his gaze. “Permitted my comrade and I are granted safety…” He faltered slightly, the stiff, almost programmed way of speaking he and Steve used with everyone except each other suddenly breaking down. He couldn’t say that they would assist in dismantling the organization of Hydra as best they could...it didn’t sound right. There was no hate. There was none of the hate he felt in his chest and what they did to him- to Steve- it felt like letting them off to say anything other than what he really felt. 

And if they were going to see him, they were going to see everything.

Bucky reached out, and took Steve’s hand in his.  _ “We want the bastards to pay.” _

After a long, silent second, Fury’s mouth tugged at one corner, his eyes flickering over to Peggy who didn’t look as mortified at the language as Bucky had thought she might be. She was smirking as well. 

“That’s exactly what we were hoping to hear.” 

Beside Bucky, Steve let out a soft breath, his fearful, suspicious heart easing. This woman- she calmed something in him. And in her, Steve began to find something like Bucky had begun to find in Natasha- a sense that his fragile, battered trust would be safe in her clearly capable hand. He saw a  _ friend _ . 

He glanced up, carefully meeting her eyes- something Steve rarely did anymore, his lips parting softly. “Hydra hurt us.” He said his voice low, and quiet, still feeling out how he was supposed to speak to these two very powerful people. “They took everything from us….we want them gone.”

Fury nodded levely. “That’s the end game.” He said, pacing forward with his arms folded over his chest. “It’s gonna be a long run. Hydra’s well established in the world, and unrooting them is going to take years- it’s going to leave chaos, but the SSR’s going to do it’s best to counteract that...now. Your inside knowledge of Hydra could have astronomical advantages, but you’d have to be a part of us.” He said levelly. “We have a specialized team within the SSR, a team Ms. Romanoff here heads.  _ The Avengers.” _

The way the words were even  _ spoken _ carried a weight of responsibility, and Bucky lifted his chin attentively, watching the brightness- the intensity in Steve’s eyes out of the corner of his own. They were hanging on Director Fury’s words.

“The Avengers are our metaphorical nuclear bomb. Our secret weapon- task force- rescue team all in one. They’re our strongest operatives, and from what I hear, you two-” His one good eye flashed over them. “You’re rough, but strong. You’ve got an impressive record, and if you could be trained to put more skill behind that butchering you could be valuable assets to the team.” 

Fury wasn’t wrong. 

Bucky was highly skilled, but Steve’s strength had little technique. His power had been forced upon him before flaring out of control- like a wildfire as he killed everyone in his path and ran with the only person he felt should mean something to his empty, abused mind. Bucky had done some training with him, but he was nowhere near the level Bucky was. But if Steve could be trained….if he could be trained...there wouldn’t be a force in the world that could stop him.

Peggy stepped forward. “You would be integrated into our staff- trained rigorously and tested on low-stakes missions. The process could be long, but the effect you could have of the SSR’s large-scale mission would be maximized….As Avengers, the two of you could make a difference.” She said, her voice holding total conviction. “You could find the justice you deserve.”

Steve’s eyes flickered to Bucky. 

Trust didn’t come easily to the two of them, but even as prisoners the SSR had treated them with dignity, and fairness- astronomically more than Hydra had even though there they had been considered operatives. And now. Now they were giving them a chance to be a part of them. To fight back against Hydra in a way that could really make a different. They were offering them the opportunity to be Avengers.

Bucky’s gaze met Steve’s, each searching the other’s expression for traces of doubt or hesitation- each looking to ensure the other didn’t sense a trap.

But the longer the offer settled into their minds, the more real it felt. It wasn’t the life- the home they had imagined for themselves...not at all...but the longer it seeped under their skin, the more it felt right. They hadn’t seen it coming, but this….this was where they belonged. If only they were still by each other’s sides. 

Natasha stepped forward, having let the Directors say their piece, but the Avengers was her team- her family. And the more she looked at the Soldier and his beloved Captain, the more she knew that this was the right decision. “So what do you say, boys?” She smirked. “Wanna be Avengers?”

And as Steve and Bucky’s eyes turned to her, they both knew the answer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Peggy was right. 

Training to be an Avenger wasn’t an easy task.

Natasha was a brutal coach, constantly pushing for better- demanding higher levels of competency and skill. She never took it easy on them or gave anything less than her best when she trained. But at the same time, at the end of the session, she’d toss them a couple of waters, smirking at them and cracking an easy joke. 

The other agents found their way of interacting with them too. Tony Stark- another Avenger and practically Director Carter’s nephew- made Bucky’s metal arm his personal study- upgrading and repairing old damage Hydra had never bothered to fix. He replaced parts with lighter material, and Bucky was surprised to find his muscles ached less, although he had to readjust his accuracy to compensate for the lighter material. 

Dr. Banner, whose body could transform to astounding proportions and strengthen the heart of a battle took an interest in Steve- in helping the SSR’s medical staff to continue understanding Steve’s various conditions. He began to develop mood stabilizers specifically to repress disproportionate anger and fear, and help Steve to better access the positive emotions that Hydra had crippled. 

Clint Barton- the man Steve had mentioned to Bucky in one of his letters- brought something else entirely. The other agents on the team had their areas of expertise- and Clint did as well, his marksmanship absolutely unparalleled- but there was a professional hardness somewhere inside all of them. Clint had remained fully, and remarkably human. And as he approached the mysterious Soldier and Captain that were now a part of their team he treated them like any other person. With dignity, but not so much that it didn’t occasionally remind them that under the programming...they were still human. And it stirred the beginnings of something they’d thought they’d lost. 

A little bit of levity. 

Gradually- training began to gave way to field exercises- to missions- to assignments. They worked in their new team having found their place...having finally found home. 

But despite all of that, there was still one thing underlying it all. Despite the fact that Steve had grown close to Peggy, and Banner, and Bucky had formed a friendship with Natasha, and a professional appreciation for Tony, there was still something. 

They were home. They had a life, and a purpose. They had a circle of support that was gradually becoming a circle of friend. But that one little thing that Steve and Bucky still knew in the deepest part of them, their teammates understood as well

Underneath everything, there was one unshakable fact: That no matter what happened, the Soldier and his Captain were only truly loyal to one another. Not matter the training- the common goals, even the friendships they were slowly able to form, Hydra left scars, and it left loyalties, and darknesses, and the Avengers and the SSR knew. 

They knew their team mates where skilled, and trustworthy. They were quiet, but sincere and genuine.

And they knew that if anyone were to hurt either one one of them, the other would turn on them like a rabid dog. They knew that loyalties and friendships would mean nothing, because at their core level they were equal parts creations of Hydra, and scarred, twisted shadows of the smiling boy’s they’d once been. And all that mattered was each other.

And if that one, precious thing they had left was threatened, they would hunt them all down without a second thought, and destroy them all, just like they did with Hydra.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I just wanted to thank all of you for reading, and following, and supporting this story. All your kudos and comments mean the world to me, and I would love to hear your thoughts of the wrap up, favorite parts, or anything else. You'll be hearing from me again soon, thank you all again!


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